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I am a prostitute.
The tick and tock
of the little clock
controls my soul.
The little talent
I can call mine,
dictated by time,
ticking and tocking.
Short coarse carpet,
hot sugary coffee,
little brown toffee,
It commands me.
I am a prostitute.
He is a prostitute.
Callused oily hands,
carefully laid plans,
Machinery now still.
Voices echoing out,
Cramped dark space,
Craning for a case
of gleaming tools.
Just out of reach.
Clearing a wet brow,
Escaping the pitch
black that which
he was confined.
He is a prostitute.
Little corner cubicle,
gray foam the view,
nothing left to do,
but become a
Prostitute.
- Title: Prostitution
- Artist: Mizz Mara
- Description: So a long time ago my theater teacher said we are all prostitutes, which left me thinking. So I decided to write out my thoughts and this is what came out. Enjoy!
- Date: 09/20/2008
- Tags: prostitution
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Comments (2 Comments)
- Llywelyn Fawr - 05/17/2009
- Hmmm... interesting poem. I find the rhythm a little too upbeat for the poem's content. Also the rhyming sounds a little forced in places. Try using more sinister words and maybe take out the rhyming. I have nothing against rhyming but sometimes it is overused and either sounds forced or gives an unwanted feel to the poem.
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- Raniel150590_05 - 09/20/2008
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don't say that!!!!!!!
well, YOU THINK that....however
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