The Child Worker: The Urine Factory

Let’s play
I am mature
At far too young an age
Lingering in my misconceptions
In wombs of failing times
And eras of disgust
I am conceived
I learn to work
I play with these machines
Monsters roaring at my face
I smile back, but they still roar

I swing myself across the metal plates
And when it hurts
I think of love
The image of my family
In these sad lands
We have to toil
We have to work for liberty
Only to hail another dawn
Of self-inflicted bigotry

Plastic handcuffs
These shackles here
Across my arms
This factory
It represents the day and age
In which a child far away
Is set to learn life’s misery
Too early on
A day where people’s needs are far beyond
The prospects of humanity

And so my fate is cast to doubt
The fate of our entirety
Lies in the cleavage of this slum
Breastfeeding us with certainty
That far beyond these metal prongs
We glorify our own country
What glory can there be in pain?
An economic victory?
And as we squeeze ourselves to grow
Without confined morality
The whole world chants our glorious name
They say we’re making history

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Character: 79/100 (We’re getting closer!)

The Ballerina: Dancefloors and Eternal Erections

When I was young
I danced with all the mirrors of my house
I danced with love
I danced for things I did not understand
I danced with passion
And hungered for his heart
That being so deranged and powerful
That I called art

Now as I dance
So frigid and alone
My body paints a portrait on the face
Of all those men
Whom in beauty are enlightened
The spotlight’s on
And I perform
In grace I move along
The lines of their desire
I’m dancing to the songs
Of lustful men in choir
To satisfy their hearts
I unleash my inner fire
I’m captive to producers
And the whims of those who hire
I milk their eyes from tears
I scratch their skin so hard it bleeds
I pinch their private parts they scream
But I still dream

This is the truth,
I’m hostage to this being so deranged
Objectifying sex in my career
Is this art?
The erotic notion of their inner craves
What about platonic needs?
Or is life nothing but a gentle sexcapade
On the banks of their collective inclinations
They punt eternally in waters deep and cold
A gondola ride with lustful aspirations

I still will dream
Butterflies do not lose hope
Floating above the ruins of my past
As time goes by
My moves decay
My beauty withers
A self inflicted mutiny
I’m thrown away
I shrivel in my own abode
Afraid to meet the world
I build my own cocoon
Hoping that again one day
That being so deranged
Will ask me out to play

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Character: 42/100

Portable Performance – Life of the Woman in a Burka

It’s hot in here,
I’m afraid of the dark.
But I feel protected
From what awaits me in the world
I feel so lonely
But propriety dictates that I remain concealed
From the world outside the contours of my drape
Sex and what not, the lustful sentiments of horny men
Is what they’ve taught me to escape
And so I live my life in a cocoon
A victim of their own perversion
Waiting for my wings to grow
To fly above it all
In graceful color

With time I blossom,
I feel a throbbing urge between my legs
A power stronger than the course of time
I’m taught to keep my feelings to myself
But something in me can’t withstand the wait
Its time to break this shell and fly away
No worries,
Opening night awaits
Soon I am to marry
The curtains will be drawn
And I will perform

I wonder how it feels to hold his hand
I wonder what would happen if he sees my face
Would he like it?
Would he smile?
Would we share a conversation?

No worries,
Opening night awaits
The curtains will be drawn
And I will perform

I am a theater, I am a stage
A portable performance
That features private sessions every night
A life-time ticket guarantees your audience
And only one man will get to have the chance
Let’s see who’ll pay the highest bid
For me to draw the curtains and spread my legs
A joyous toy, quite practical to keep at home
And as the days go by
The narrative of my life remains
A story of a girl in chains,
A story of a girl in chains!