Scarlet Moth

Good Evening, 
Today's post is a in honour of all working girls and the pain that they put themselves through.  A small window into a darkened world and the length some mothers will go to to provide for the ones they love. It's a start reminder to never judge a book by it's cover. 

Scarlet Moth

Collar turned up to repel bitter cold,

Strutting her stuff like she’s feeling bold.

The curve of her leg in line with her back,

Her regular punters know she’s no slack. 

So she flaunts her wears in some flimsy cloth,

At street light gatherings, like moon sick moths.

Such biting cold she must rebuke,

Flaunting herself to a man in a suit.

She knows his type as he drives on by,

Another twisted perv who thinks he’s fly!

She can’t turn him down as he’ll pay well,

But she knows his preference hurts like hell.

One hour later she back on the game,

For sex starved men who want more of the same.

Some want to save her, others to abuse,

It’s her who’s the taker, these men she will use. 

Such a pretty young angel back in her day,

Or so they said, before they pushed her away.

Her perfect Mum and hard working Dad,

But what grew inside her made them so mad.

Kicked to the streets without any thought,

No second guessing to the danger that brought.

Now look at their Princess selling her wares,

For the child she now nurtures and for who she cares.

Nights will get colder, it’s the wet that’s the worst,

In those hours it's when she feels she is cursed.

Cold to the bone and soaked to the skin,

With blanked out eyes before they begin.

She knows that the predators will be out rain.

Inviting you in to inflict so much pain.

The beatings, the rapes, the disgust that she feels.

As another trick finishes with a satisfied squeal.

She saves every penny she’s not got to spend.

To her it’s a means to a her fairy tale end.

For her and her baby a place of their own,

Where she can feel safe when standing alone. 

By Helen Stallard

March 5, 2014