Thursday, June 6, 2013

There Once Was A Ho

Back in 94 was born a girl the world would name a whore, my question is, was she meant to? This is a forewarning to the porn kings who plaster her face on posters and internet pages, my question is, would you too? Would you let the world look at you as you swing around a pole that used to be fantasies of chasing down fires when alarmed and would you let the world gaze and awe at how you use every orifice and bodily part for the price of pleasing the stranger? 

Did you see when she was 16 and her mother spit mean venom in her face because she blamed her for the repeated rape by boyfriend after boyfriend until all hope ends for love. Disney seemed like a lie even while it lied to her, as if this is what a family looks like. Did you notice when she was 10 and her breasts began setting in because her father did. He sold her to the highest bidder because food is a scarce commodity where she grew up but that is OK because WHO CARES about the Sluts. 

This is what she identifies herself as because man after man hasn’t asked for her hand after tasting her nectar. The sweetest juices seduced through the promise of being held, told that this is forever. Now, too old, hair failing to do what the hell its supposed to and she doesn’t chase pleasure, nor pain, just the sustenance she needs in her vanes while family pleads with her in vain but she can’t run away now. “This has been my only friend, the only one that stuck around” when every Tom Dick and Chuck gave up on giving what she flirted out of’em. 

This was a girl, a woman who had love lavished upon her and nobody told her Whore wasn’t a compliment. Why was her friend so cruel as to force the flash of camera’s down her existence, messaging promises of those “good times” we see written on the bathroom stalls. I am stalled, by the thought that the ancestor of Christ was a victim of a rapist, and that God would approve a prostitute to make way for His people. The thought which brings me to halt is whether or not Rahab was a prostitute after that day she set the crimson rope on the window. Was the lady Magdalene ever brought back to her ways by the driving need to survive in a world where sex sells and people pay for the fulfillment of momentary desire? 

Sweat, drips, as she perspires in her prison. Victim to the addiction of self-gratification and she is the object of their obsession. “Well, at least they give me attention.” Sweat, drips and mixed with tears become the only truth she exudes as man after man pays to hear her fraudulent moans, making sure he is convinced his insecurities are not as they are. Maybe by now this has been too long and maybe I’ve gone too far in revelation but the whore of babylon is NOT the whore on the reservation. Strawberry strawberry, too short shawty, easy evil. Maybe too much, but for too long this has been the perversion of human sexuality. 

I am not innocent. I apologize, for the lives I sat and fantasized over while ignoring the obvious ruin on screen. Forgive me, for my hands have caressed too many hips thighs and asses, breasts necks and passes are not given for the strong, manipulative, or even moderately attractive. May there be a covenant between my eyes and the Father that my lustful failures would not transfer to my students, my peers, my children. For too often  we forget, that Brenda had a baby, and that that supposed whore, is still a lady, and not my Private Dancer.


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