I tried to write a poem from the point of view of inside a womans mind when she is forced into prostitution. The anguish, the pain, the loneliness, the loss of her voice, etc. A sad situation.
Paint runs, it slowly drips, from the cold, Wet corner of her cell, The corner where she stands all day, Where no one hears her yell, With her tight clenched fists against her lips, Eyes staring straight ahead, Nobody sees this girls torment, Not caring what she said, Because she screams alone inside her mind, In the black, cold empty space, While on the outside men only ever say They love her pretty face, You see, she wears the string, swings on a pole, Her body is all for sale, But in her mind she hurts all alone, In a cold, wet lonely jail.
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