Some people prefer
calling her an entertainer,
Some rather prefer
calling her as a means for pleasure,
They stare at her
parts not her beauty,
The look at her body
not her story,
She wakes up all the
morning to get touched,
She dresses everyday
exotic to get all her body smutched,
All you ever want to
do is snatch her body part,
All you never want to
do is read her soul and heart,
You take her granted
just for sex,
You don't think her
like you but just an object,
You don't how many
time she has been forced for pleasure,
You can’t even imagine
her pain to measure,
She is not a
prostitute by her own,
She never wants all of
her body to be shown,
That last time I met
one she had a nice story,
Many visited her but
there was no one to worry,
She opened all of her
clothes in front of me,
There I did something
that wasn't meant to be,
I covered up her body
and started listening to her,
She kept telling all
her stories in a burr,
She told me her body
was sold for some green papers,
From then her eyes saw
every man as a rapers,
At last when I was
leaving she asked me why I aren’t here for her body,
I told her that I was there
for the body but rather pulled by her story,
She cried when I kept
my hands on her shoulder,
I asked her to live up
to the world and become bolder,
She was always afraid
to show herself to the world,
Because the society booed
her and had her image curled,
She said to show up to
the world why would there be anxiety,
You are the one to
accept me but will the society?
