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W*ore.
Her selfesteem was rated: none! , she's disgusting, f***ing nasty. She doesn't know what to do anymore. Then a little boy was born. He wasn't welcome, into this world. She cries, She screams. What is she supposed to do? She's mad, She's angry, because he doesn't care, he doesn't wanna be a daddy... He starts stuttering. 'W*ore, W*ore. She hears. Come on honey? Show a little more. W*ore W*ore.'
That's how she feels. Because everyone tells her. She tries to wash away the dirt. The mistakes follow her. This is not her fault! ... No one deserves something like this, especially she. When she jumps down the hill, the thoughts scream at her 'W*ore, W*ore! you deserve this, drink a little more, sit down with us. Do what we say. We know you wont say no. Come on, it doesn't kill you. Whore, Whore.
Edith Soffia
| Submitted Date |
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Wednesday, November 25, 2009 |
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Poets
