Charlotte Puddifoot Poet Free verse

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after doors close    after hours    when scarlet neon flickers out    red-light nights fill voids of need    my body is a ripped flower    my throat tingles to the burn of vodka-fire    gleaning the gleaming water-washed street    for an answer to the latest outstanding bill    sadly grateful for the slightest footfall    twenty for oral    forty for full    car park dark    steam-heavy dark    not streetwalking but streetstaggering    in hollow-pod hell    anaemic-ashy and vodka-fumy amorphous shadows    loitering    on durex-dotted waste ground    in secret alleys    back to dank brick    or deep throating down on my knees    skirt around thighs    fingers come-pearled and slick    come quick    after doors close    after hours    when scarlet neon flickers out    cold glitter of streetlights    gleam of cold hard cash    cold kisses    colder touch    no eye contact    look away   the cold nothingness that we say

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FJ Thomas July 22, 2025 at 10:34 AM The despair of trying to survive can truly devastate a soul. This is heartbreaking in its honesty... its reality.

Ink Empress December 17, 2024 at 9:59 AM I really like the opening in this especially “ my body is a ripped flower” and how youv described red light districts, love the concept and i feel nothing but empathy for those stuck in such situations for many reasons some cant even imagine at times; as iv seen and read about them . Thank you for sharing, congratulations on your placement

Paige Hind December 14, 2024 at 3:43 PM This is raw- raw talent - it makes for an amazing read

Brandy Nicole December 10, 2024 at 8:21 PM If something tragic happened in the past, it doesn't have to reflect the present. Even though I may not know the situation, there's always a better way to manage in life. A heartbreaking scene you have painted with your words. My best to you, Charlotte. ~ Brandy

I Am Anaya December 10, 2024 at 12:32 PM Your descriptions are impeccable, the imagery heartbreaking, that world well-known to us, and some whom had lived it. But who are we , who are WE to judge lifestyle's without knowing all. Yes, the streets of solitude. Love it, am faving!

Arlo Parker December 9, 2024 at 11:32 AM Being a receptacle must absolutely be so dehumanizing (and) as to see the john quite inhuman. Worth besmirched to the nth degree and no empathy around. Isolation destroying self, slowly, slowly. Sadly. Powerful tale too real to consider in one sitting. A heart weeps for this woman, all these women. :/

Paul Bell December 9, 2024 at 9:48 AM You can never judge anyone till you're on your knees in debt. It's a dangerous occupation, as many documentaries have highlighted. The internet has probably helped prostitutes ply their trade a bit more safely, but the desperate girl is still going to hit the streets, and the streets as we know are as dangerous as ever. Like your chrismas poem.