Life of a prostitute..

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?