She was grey, nude. So was her shawl, the only piece of clothing she had around her. The shawl too had the torn patches like her heart still finds.
She was grey, black bruised all around her body, exploited. Iterating, her shawl was torn, and as a small kid would, peeps her nipple as discomfort knocks her door.
Her elegant body, she rested on a promenade, so cold felt her bums, those cheeks so soft she once used to flaunt about, was feeling the cold; literal, figurative. Her ravishing thighs were scared now, her hands locking the knees, her back on the fence surrounding beautiful sea. Ironical it seemed.
And men, men like me, men like you, held her hand, takes back to a place, a shelter was provided. Shelter of shame. She couldn't be repugnant enough to deny as when the shelter was snatched, a candy denied, would lead her to the nearest hot dog on wheels, and doesn't he as well shoo the dirt with disrespect.
It makes me laugh, a smile over the dark world that is masqueraded by the so called pleasant world of ours, the search of our happiness, trying to find positive in every aspect we can't face.
In a world where prostitution is a fashion, prostitution is a luxury, a business, something we are proud of, she was a prostitute. Well, she had two boobs and a vagina. She was a prostitute.
(I intend to offend none and the vulgar use of words are not used in an offensive way. It is reality and how God really did make us. So no offense or apologies. And by saying she was a prostitute I meant that she was used for sex and was exploited and thus in a way becomes an unofficial prostitute. It's a pun and pity expressed.)