They Call Me A Prostitute

A decade and a year old I was,

When these dark clouds covered my bonce.

The women here seemed to adore me,

For new attires and delicacies were all I got.

The orphanage didn't give me these,

And I thought I got a dozen mothers here.

That night they didn't let me sleep;

I was prepared for something,

Something vicious indeed.

How I screamed that night !

How badly I wanted to return to my home, my orphanage.

That unknown man left marks on my body,

But the scars in my soul were deeper.

After another decade now,

They call me a prostitute.

Spitting at this shattered body, they call me impure.

But impure are those several men

Whose hands ruined my pure soul.

Impure are those dark nights

That break me into several more pieces.

Love was all I yearned for,

And lust was all I got.

Those hungry beasts never loved me,

They loved my flesh.

I'm questioned by my reflection in the mirror.

Is this who I am?

Getting undressed by different men?

Is this who I want to be?

A prostitute?