,
I decided to write a poem, hoping to shed some light on the plight of those who through desperation, despair or coercion, are living a life on the edges of society. Not wishing to judge, condemn or defend their motivations; as a humanitarian and advocate of women's development, I am using my voice and platform to call for more understanding, empathy and action, to help afford these forgotten members of society, a better life.
The Lady Street Walker
Look not upon me aghast, or with scorn
I am like you flesh and blood, of woman born
A cherished daughter, sister, niece, aunt, mother
Living a life of abasement, society's throw-away; other
Trapped in an ugly, cruel, iron vise; hardly comfy, gentle or kind
Risking life and limb, my life of vice, in an endless bind
Walking the city's highways, byways and mean streets
Clearly, never mistaken for a no-nonsense, uniformed cop on the beat
Scantily clad, my tired, wracked mind and body, bared
It's the name of the game; no better way to ply, barter, sell my wares
Like you, I have a best-loved colour - it's buttercup yellow
Although, it matters not, to paying johns, all strange-bedfellows
Like you, I have a fav, special meal - it's spicy pot roast
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