Beauty Queen

“This is a poem (hopefully it sounds like one, but it never follows the rules of a sonnet or ballad)of a girl who has been forced into prostitution by her mother. The girl depicts her horrific days and her menstrual cycle. I couldn’t resist myself from using the words ‘beauty queen & broken smile’- thank you- Maroon  It’s a shame to tag this as a tribute this to all women who trade their flesh, so it could be my *lullaby to you all”

*John-a slang refering to the customers who seek sexual pleasure in women

*lullaby- a soothing song to put a child to sleep

 *fille - french word for girl

This is my story,

a story devoid of fantasies,

but cloaked in robes of sorrow.

Story of unprecedented hatred

and confessions of a girl

Sitting in a lonely room

hugging my knees in desperation.

Staring the tulips across my window

a blanket of maroon petals, with their
heads down awaiting the dusk.

White linen barely covering

my feet; the finger nails manicured

with glossy pink to seduce punks

from neighborhood. A broken

smile basks my face fearing dusk

This is the story of

a beauty queen who is 17.

Memoirs of lost sleep and cut lip;
Mighty rewards from my voyeurs;
Story on this queen’s lost virginity.

Crooked under my princess bed,  

hiding and pleading my mom,

‘Not this time, mommy, No!!!’

Thunderous blow lands across

my face, leaving bruised cheek.

Bruises flag my face red, ceasing

the need to blush. But beads of blood

dot my skirt’s hem, marking

my menses. A much waited

vacation for this beauty queen.

This is a story of a girl

with a new identity- slut.

A new face with old scars,

A vacation with no *John’s thrusting,

but still this period hurts.

This excruciating pain pushes

myself into an oblivion, where

there are too many rainbows.
With my pain abating, I think
about my tomorrow as a whore.

In my low cut blouse and

cherry red lips to steal a glance.

Once again, I'm on roads

trying to find a John

who would hurt me less.