Don’t look at me,
And then look away.
Don’t hold me in your arms,
And then jerk me off.
Don’t hug me,
To unhook me from behind.
Don’t rip off my shirt,
If you’re scared to see my scars.
Don’t kiss me,
And then turn away.

Because I cannot help
But fall in love
With men who touch me.
And men who hurt me,
When they’re pissed at life.
Men like you come,
To touch me, and do
Whatever you crave
I never ask you to stop, though.
It does hurt me, sometimes.
You never look at my face
But just below my chin.
How do I tell you that
I wish to be talked to
In words? And not just my price
For the nights, and days, or both.
You do me, only to
Leave me behind,
Incomplete and unloved.
Tired, I hide behind myself
My uncanny urge to be loved.

France-Lam-Duc-Hien-Prostitution.png

 

The next time you visit,
Come, but not with
The pennies in your pants,
But a little love in your eyes.
And a bare soul,
Instead of your naked body.
And I promise
To kiss away the pain,
And suck in the grief.
Perhaps you too can
At least look at me,
And not see just a lying body
That means nothing to you.

I’ll take your soul with me
To someplace unknown
And inject in the ecstasy
Of my tender love.
Discovering your pretty
Ugly marks and moles
My lips will make their way
From your temple
To your toe, and kiss you
Until you ask me to stop.

I promise to love you
Like no one ever did.
I can love, even though
I don’t know what love means.
As for now,
I would like to believe
It’s just something,
I’m not allowed to,
But paid to do.

 

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