Thousand 

She puts her well worn shoes inside the door
The evening ends as she removes her clothes
Each day is very much like one before
Mundane her life she might say I suppose
But once she was a proud princess of punk
Existing like a threat to status quo
And then the years addicted to the junk
A thousand men have paid to come and go
With every touch a smearing of the pride
A panting pawing always wanting more
Until they’re nothing reaching deep inside
Reflected in the eyes she sees a whore
Society so harsh when women fall
The thousand men who aren’t responsible

Advertisements

Author: thepoetautist

A Gay poet of fifty odd years who is currently living in Cambodia.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s