Sex worker! And not a whore.

I met with a girl,
In a metro rail,
With flesh and soul,
Standing near the pole,
Hair were thick,
With some clumsy flick,
Clothiers were alluring,
But smile was dim,
She passed a gleaming smile,
I wasn’t satisfied with her eyes,
It spoke alot to me,
What are you hiding babe?
The question I raised,
She uttered,
Some cruel true words,
They call me whore,
I’m not pure,
They come daily,
My family suffered,
With lot of trouble,
I had no choice ,
To make keep them survive,
On a regular basis,
Some umated and,
Some who joined Holy,
Their paws scratches my body,
Touching all organs,
But my soul and lips are still untouched,
Asking me, making me speechless,
A perfect question-
Oh my dear,
Tell me one thing,
Who is yard bird?
The one who bluffs his wife,
Or the one who saves makes survive.
I say I’m not pure,
But please,
Don’t call me whore.

-shraddha

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Also read:

  1. she might be safe now
  2. Move on
  3. yeah, you are strong
  4. yeah! I too had loved once 
  5. stable, Oh really. 
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