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Personal Note:

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Poem

Young, but hardly innocent, 
For times are rarely ever so. 
"Favors" made to pay the rent, 
Became the harlot's status quo. 

Past the church of childhood, 
Where she had sung the choir's lead, 
To 44th and Underwood, 
Her newest place of want and need. 

Night gives way to day's remorse, 
Yet hunger has no prejudice, 
Fifty bucks for intercourse; 
What chaos could have led to this? 

She walks, sometimes, along the walls, 
Upon the rooftops, none too low, 
And asks herself, were she to fall, 
Would anybody even know? 

Some things happen all by chance, 
Other things are meant to be. 
Maybe it was happenstance, 
her accidental pregnancy. 

She walks, sometimes, along the walls, 
Upon the rooftops, tears in eyes, 
Careful that she doesn't fall, 
And softly singing lullabies.

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