“The Pimp Who Had The Power.”
By
Jaime Rivera
If you are feeling like a pimp,
In a position of hot loving power,
Don't leave me freezing by the hour,
And don't feed me anymore shrimp!
I have my pride so that you feel,
That you can truly get away,
Not caring for what they say,
And getting free what others steal.
You don't know that you hurt me for real,
When you make me give my flesh,
And you don't want to feel my breath,
That smells like onions that you peal.
You say that you love me and so you lie,
As you count what daily comes in,
You don't care how cold is the wind,
And even if I'm to survive.
You rather see me die, I'm told,
And you hurt me with distress,
You leave me like a dirty mess,
After collecting what you sold.
You have no soul in your core,
For you make me sleep with many,
You don't even give me a penny,
You just call me a dirty whore.
A prostitute I am, it's true,
I sell myself for money,
But I give you the honey,
Even thou' you make my world so blue.
Why then are you so cruel?
Don't I at least deserve the best?
I gave you the love inside my chest,
A love that you still find so dull.
So everyday I walk the streets,
With my bag and with my purse,
And I wonder who will be the first,
Who will offer me their seats.
Now here she comes again they say,
In that big luxurious car of hers,
Keeping warm with all the furs,
As she sells my body again today.
And she does give my body away,
Oh how I do wish the day will come,
When home my wife will stay,
And we men are rulers of this here slum!
JR. 3/22/2009. ©
