for the “lacefront” prostitute on the “Crescent”

Her veins are cold with envy
for all the fair skinned,
“good hair” girls
the ones the boys notice

she undoes her top button
high hemline
micro mini inhibitions.
the last suitor stole her heart
with words
she is “more closer”
to giving in and giving up
the darkness tastes like darkness
she walks, curses, and spits
all that goddess
drowned out
by false pride
pantomimed pretty
playing dress up
a little girl
dressed like a women
undressed by a strangers tribute
sold her soul so long ago
she can’t remember what it ever felt like
as foreign to her grasp
as bibles and church fans
I pray for her…
she pours another drink
and moves down the train
looking for “friends”…


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