Before I was born, my mother was torn
From her moorings by drinks and drugs
When I was six, I needed a fix
More than kisses and hugs
By ten I had known many men
Who said I was a nice little doll
At first it hurt, getting rubbed in the dirt
On my way from spring to fall
Mostly I was free, but often dollars three
Got me for whatever I was needed
Happiness hugged me, only when they drugged me
For which I pleaded and pleaded
When the terrible pain came again and again
I would scream for any bid
But those who had me never knew the sad me
For I was just a throw-away kid
At sixteen, there's nowhere I haven't been
It has been a short life, quick and sad
Now I lie, with blood on my thigh
Tell me Mommy, was I good or bad?
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem