by: Lia Thomas
Hurt once at 11 she turns to love not defined
walking the street in minis and boots from morning to night
in search of affection that she thinks is of one kind
she has no time to slow down cause money is time.
Time is what she’s left with and holds on to each day
cause money ain’t it, as the pimp comes and takes his pay
working hard for jobs where she’s told on her back lay
she travels when they enter her, cause in reality she can never stay.
Only 12 no momma and daddy at home to care
her days on the street have quickly turned from dreams into day mares
in a motel room with no body to hold her close and wipe the tears
the pimp comes around, but its only to work on her fears
But you know what, it doesn’t matter no more anyway,
For in a black bag is where this little girl now lays
with nothing but a Jane Doe tag on a toe on a cold tray
not surprisingly there isn’t even a soul to over her pray.
There’s nobody to think, she was only 11 with a broken heart,
no one to tell her its puberty starting, and not her world falling apart
but with no clue she went in search of it but ended up on this cold cart,
No one to say its only puberty my child, not your world falling apart,
not your world falling apart…
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copyright@liathomas
