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Prostitution

Poems of Child Abuse

By Andie LevinePublished 6 years ago 1 min read
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When you are bought

the first time, will you

show everything at once, or hold,

close to your chest, your hand

to play later?

Maybe a bargain will be struck

with your agent

Mother,

who is so eager

to make a deal

for even just a measly 10% —

she didn’t want this painful bloat

and once

her precious pelvis spits

you out

he can have you. And whoever.

She won’t care.

He will pin his colours

on your thighs with your first diaper, and

tattoo his hot

brand-iron logo

on your face

like a letterhead, slipping you

the virgin payoff. It could be

just a dime this time

but you will do another deal. The price

goes up

with age and whips

and bondage

more complex.

Because

Daddy is your client. Will you

ever know? It’s he

in different hats and coats, it is

his money slipped

under your dress,

between your breasts

and he does it all

so Mother can say

he never cheats on her. Reputations

intact, collaboration

a finely choreographed tango.

Beat yourself up a little

now. They count on it.

And Daddy soon

makes another deposit.

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