Sarah Parry


Your Un-Paid Prostitute


 I was your un-paid prossie,

Your loose woman, street walker,

I'd come around lips glossy,

Then you brand me a stalker.

I was unaware of it,

Feelings under my lace bra,

You just treated me like shit,

I just 'your harlot' left scarred.


Convenience brought me there,

I was not on Cupid's train,

Ruthless: you just stripped me bare!

A hooker to nurse your pain.

You used me as an outlet,

Like the tissues by your bed!

I'd fuck away all your frets,

I choked on lines that you fed.


My mascara meowed "SLUT!"

My heart howled "LOVE OF MY LIFE!"

Your heart's doors slammed shut abrupt,

Wasting me like a wench wife.

Airs and graces weren't allowed,

No point in dressing up nice,

A chippie: you were never proud,

A love-less sliver of vice.


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Sarah Parry

Sentinel Poetry (Online) #40


ISSN 1479-425X     March 2006