The Little Prostitute - Poem by Cecelia Weir
I looked into the eyes of a young prostitute
And asked why are you out and about
She said she lived in poverty
And had to make it without a doubt.
She cried as she said her mother was on crack
She'd left her to live with her dad
A man who lost his job and everything
But daily managed to drink and be mad.
She said only if I'd had parents
Who would live like they should
I wouldn't have to live like I'm lost
If they would at least do what they could.
So this is the way I feed myself
Its like I have no other choice
I long to live like other kids
But in this world I have no voice.
Who really cares for the children
When some parents live the way they do.
Who suppose to care for us
Think whose left to fill their shoes.
She said she prayed to God every night
To keep and bless her real good
And when she'd live to get much older
He'd let her be the parent her parents should.
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