This woman is the color gold mistaken for yellow.
Like a needle in a haystack
But this needle's been used
Over and over, heroin through.
The first time I saw her was when I was going to see my father in rehab again
Walking on the corner, in a dress, cellphone in hand
And I said she was beautiful, my naivety
Not knowing two years later I would see her on 7th street.
She has beautiful curves, but I see more
More than those men and women
Their open mouths and groggy eyes
Well, their eyes surely aren't open.
I see a woman so powerful, so beautiful
No way she's broken.
Well, yeah, two years later
Her cellphone replaced with a sign that says
"Homeless, please help"
I do not know of the troubles she's dealt,
But boys and girls and the in-between
They are growing up to think
That this lifestyle isn't destructive
I know, I see it up and down my blog
Capital letters, in shock
"STOP SLUT SHAMING"
And then there's me, screaming
"I AM NOT SLUT SHAMING YOU
I DON'T EVEN ASSOCIATE THE WORD SLUT WITH YOU"
Because I don't, I see a human
I don't know what she's been through
But I bet she'd say to stay away
If she could to you.
Just a human like all of us.
Not a slutty girl or a prudish girl but a girl
Not a black person or white person but a person.
We twirl with the idea that skin color changes the likelihood of arson
But everyone has a possibility to start a fire
Everybody has the choice to be a slut for hire
It's just that all people have a fire inside themselves
And some just go higher.
YOU ARE READING
Writings
PoetryAnything and everything. Most of it is bad. I wrote most of it when I was like 12 and being abused or recovering from it lol
