She kept wishing she was a diamond, like all the other glittering girls around her. She wanted to be like them: precious, strong, desirable.
But she’s not. She could have been a diamond, or any other precious stone. But has a diamond ever changed the world? Has an emerald, a ruby, a sapphire, revolutionized how man lived?
For she was uranium. She was power. She was radiation. She was dangerous. Yet she doesn’t know it yet— that she can unleash her rage and decimate a world that men who fall in love build around her. She doesn’t know it then: that she had inside her the energy to bring light, to inspire discoveries, to create industries and societies. She doesn’t know it still, how just being near her is killing me slowly.
I didn’t know it then, for I am just a man. A man who fell in love with power, and as power corrupts, I desired to control her, to own her, to make her mine alone.
“I wish I had met you sooner. If you were mine when I was sixteen
I never would’ve fallen for that boy in my chemistry class
and cracked my head open on his chest.
I couldn’t see straight for 3 weeks after that.
And maybe if I had known you since I was a little girl
I never would’ve gotten sad enough to cut myself,
a tick mark in my skin for each time my mother cried.
And if we had met two summer’s ago
I probably would’ve been asleep in your bed
instead of in my big sister’s car
when she crashed it
and I could’ve twirled my fingers around your hair
instead of pulling the strings out of hospital blankets.
If we had met just a few months sooner
I’d probably never know the taste of too many pills
because my mouth would be too busy
telling you that I love you.
I know that people can’t save you,
I’m just saying, I think that if we could go back in time,
and kiss before the night the fire in my bedroom
washed away the blood stains on my carpet,
I wouldn’t know what it’s like to mean it
when I say I want to die.”
Well, I’m not here to justify myself but I’m the reason behind many Men’s happiness. When men get frustrated and all what they desperately want is a ‘Cunt’, they come to me. I satisfy them and stop potential rapes. You, highly respected women, owe a lot to me.
You might be a writer, a painter, a businessman, an accountant or a lawyer. You charge for the services you provide to your clients and customers. You sell your talent. I have a body to offer and I serve it to my customers. They enjoy it and I satisfy them. That’s my talent and I charge for it. How come that makes me different from you? How come I don’t deserve to be treated with equal respect?
There are women who are in a relationship and need to offer their body to their partners, every night. Some are even forced when they deny it. I, for a change, choose my customers. The only difference between me and them is of label.
Yes, I am a prostitute.
What does it mean when we say goodbye
When we gently let go of someone’s hand
When all we want is to hold them closer
When all we wish is to be with each other?
Words mean nothing when we don’t understand
Goodbyes mean nothing when we simply cry.
What does it mean when we bid farewell
When we watch them go beyond our sight
When all we think is they should have stayed
When all we think are the mistakes we made?
Words mean nothing in the lonely night
Farewells mean nothing when your memories dwell.
What does it mean when they simply disappear
When without a word or trace, they leave for good
When all we remember reminds us of pain
When all we forget were lessons meant to remain?
Words means nothing— we know it should
They said I’m just a small, shallow, town girl with a lewd shape, sensual lips, and no brain at all.
My beauty dazzled them from seeing the carcasses wasted in the shadowed forest behind my house.
It’s a fearful place; details will be swallowed by the monster that lies within my heart.
Yes, I’m that shameless whore that butchered lovers.
They said I’m just a small, shallow town girl with a lewd shape, sensual lips, and no brain at all.
What do they know?
I’m just whispering, can you hear me?
Night after night, he pounds me until the fountains of blood start to deliver.Night after night, fear becomes my fellow, and a bottle of vodka sleeps in my bed; I’m consumed.
Night after night, he rapes my shadow, he rapes my voice, no hope, no sunshine, just stress.
i need to go; my friend tells me about a place behind the sun, where broken-winged angels can find peace, can obtain a smile.
My house is a dark place and my story is a dark tale.