She plays John's to keep the heat on.
He plays beats to calm his hornmatic storm.
They play hide and go seek with tongues.
Finding which one they can make come faster.
Hoping that her moans will carry her to the end of the hour
because this is her salary.
God chose right to name her Onyx, that's the color her soul grew into.
And she doesn't mind being calls by her profession because she worked for it.
She fucks by dumpsters and broken needles.
Sucks dicks and clits on playgrounds where she welcomes the gravel piercing her skin.
Cause at least she knows that she can still feel something.
She uses anything as her next bed to get ahead because tricking keeps roofs over her head.
Keep mouths fed
She never questioned why her occupation would leave her womb full of suicide soldiers.
Ready to die for their commander will, like eventually she will.
she never questioned why her introduction to this type of passion was from the man,
who was suppose to know what was best for her but all he did was leave her exposed to a world that she was not ready for.
Lips bleeding, screams proceeding, her destiny finally coming into reality.
Laying in mommy’s bed with daddy.
He made her see her purpose clearly.
After pounding her innocents, he left her a 20.00 on that old beat up night stand and said that
“As long as you keep giving me your sweet honey, then I will make sure that money will never come funny”
And it’s funny that her pimp and Daddy held the same crooked smile, telling her that this was helping the family and would make him happy, so she stands on corners and shares her dynasty with the streets that transformed her into a streetlight beast.
So she hustles Johns in streets.
She beats random meats to keep the heat on.
She tricks to keep the beat of her heart on.
She tricks because this is what we made her choose.
She plays this game of life like she is winning to lose.
She will live life like it is impossible to fail because she has to.
Maybe one day I will tell her that she id God’ ugly duckling pending her moment to become that Swan she has always had her eye on. To get off the cross that she lays on and realize that crucifying herself will not lead the lost home. That bruised eyes and ribs don’t have to be your calling card. I will tell her that she is a warrior. I will tell her she is beautiful.