CALL GIRL

She uses her pretty face to set meals on her table
Her bills get paid by the swiftness of her hips because her brains aren’t able.
At least that's what she tells herself to get through the day

At night the company of strange men silences the thoughts as she offers them a lay.
Two, three, five rounds depending on how deep his pockets
Currencies assigned to orgasms popping his eyes out of their sockets.
He jabs deep into her, digging her pelvis like a man in search of a treasure
He has a family at home, a paying job but in her hole is where he finds his pleasure.
“Call me Daddy” he instructs as she stirs his excitement wild
For a moment she wonders what daddy would do this with his child.
Three years, eight abortions because her womb is no home for his seeds
His only use for her is to satisfy his own feeble needs.
He’s weak in the world but in her bed she makes him feel stronger
A little extra cash on the table to make the foreplay last a little longer.
Her pleasure is secondary to his; he doesn’t notice her self-lubricating
Though it’s her he pictures in the office bathroom when he finds himself masturbating.
Three nights a week for two hours, she almost looks forward to his visits
Who knows what he’ll ask for next so her leisure time is spent practicing flips and splits
One drawer is full of condoms of every size, color and odor
The other with birth control and morning after pills just in case he decides to go in raw.
She’d tie her tubes but she has silent prospects of a husband and a kid
Believes she knows the secret into the heart of men and waits on the timing of cupid.
A mistress of erotic arts bearing naivety like her is often unseen
Her thin waist, voluptuous ass and breasts hold back that she’s only sixteen.
“I’m only doing this for the money” has grown into a four year old chant
The way out for an orphaned child oppressed by empty days and an abusive aunt.
Prostitution is a trait for many growing girls in her neighborhood
The elders give up on them and cry that they’d amount to nothing good.
She remembers very little of her father and she knows he wouldn’t be proud
But he had left her alone in a scary world and for that her actions were allowed. 
She thinks of her mother with a lot more grace
Reminds herself of the effortless smile that rested upon her friendly face.
“Mama, I want to be just like you” her mind hears herself utter
Mama replied “You won’t be like me my child. You will be better”.
And when she’s drawn into the words her mother had said
She whispers “I’m sorry” as another stranger occupies her bed.

LOVESTRUCK

I sit stark naked in the dark waiting on inspiration to spark

I’m tearing my thoughts apart in a mental shark attack

Hoping to embark on a journey that puts my reality on a gurney

Only to be resuscitated when I need it back.

My past and future fade to black while I stay searching strings of things

It’s like I’m running a marathon against springs;

I’m always snapping back to you.

You who stars in every episode of my playwritings

 All one million of them till I fix you into dark skies as night lightings

And you have never looked so beautiful.

Your shine has never felt so dutiful engulfing me in its radiance;

It’s you who leaves me delightful even from a distance.

It’s always you who sight’s full of great things done and the greater yet to come

Your passion that never succumbs when challenges drum

Your modesty that sits above your ego is the body that links the path of where you’re going to that which you’re from like two opposable thumbs

I’m walking right beside you so there’ll be no need fill the road with crumbs

Just forgive my shrieking voice when I start to hum.

…But I’m with you.

You who bore to me your beliefs, fears and defects

And danced with me despite my faults without a halt

You, with whom the absolute was derived from two imperfects

I see a man whose choices weigh a ton

Never a broken nor uncertain man but he whose empire stands undone

I’m asked why I love you, why I call you “The One”

Above all of mothers’ sons

Why I choose you.

But they haven’t seen extraordinary

No, they haven’t met us yet

They may have been in contact with a carbon copy

Or from a distance familiarized with our silhouette.

Let them come up close and see we’re exquisite

Sublime, magnificent in a way that the normal can’t help but anxiously quiz it

We’re desirable like milk-bathed skin

Surreal yet completely genuine

It’s this love we’re in

That thin thread between insanity and actuality on which we tread

Give us Lord our daily bread and together; body, heart and head, we are fed.

This love that guides us to what resides on the other side of distant hills

That fills our souls on adventurous rides and heart-thumping thrills

You’re that sentiment that keeps ink to my quill

Yes I love you, always have…always will.

There's a burn inside my chest that gets my insides to churn.

A passion that turns me towards a path that I yearn

I am loved and I love in return.