The Harem: Persian Suns and Magic Carpet Rides

Here I am, exotic and confined
Just like a summer day held in captivity
The colors in my eyes
Can’t paint above the sorrows of this world
But in my humble stare
The blossoms bloom
With fragrant lemon trees
I travel with the wind
Towards a world
Of magic carpet rides
And Persian suns that never set
Despite the mullahs and the shahs

Inside my countenance
A thousand and one nights
The firmness of a woman’s heart
At yet so young an age
And throbbing beauty of a virgin child
With naked smiles I brush away their vanity
That’s all I have to do
Embrace myself
And let my honeyed skin drip with desire
A gentle current running down my corpse
Until I’m freed of all the pain

Let all this seeping sweetness
Wash away the sadness of our times
And as I’m tended to in private squares
The eyes of lustful men
Turn my desires into things
A vengeful sodomy darkening the day
I take no heed
The sweet embrace of rubber on my skin
Can never change the virtues of my mind
I am this woman punished, here I am
Placed on my deathbed every night
But yet I’m wreaking with my womanhood

The lemon fields will always bloom
And summer days are days of summer sun
Underneath these clear blue summer skies
What room we have to dream and have some fun

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Character: 84/100 (Awaiting the second phase of Bohemiaspeaks!)

The Whore: Squeaky Beds and Distant Galaxies

I am not afraid of that which is uncertain
Behind the drapes the sun may rise
Or darkness may pervade forevermore
But in my mental space
A whole new universe
That answers to the deepest of desires
And quenches thirsts of pleasure and relief

My heart is pierced a million times
By the trials of this world
A million sticks a’ pricking at my door
The townsmen gather here today
Demanding justice
For that which they do not know
Empty values in their midst diffuse
Ringing bells and anthems of old times

To them the world is night or day
The sun or moon can only rule the sky
But here behind my drapes in my sweet bed
So many other sons have ruled my day
Until a point where truth is lost between
The opening of my vagina and his pubic hair
A narrow fringe of laughter and despair
Why hate me if I sell my flesh
When the whole world has sold its soul
And pimped its body without care

On this sweet morn
My fleeting body is exposed
To their batons and whips and words
But I still journey in my mind
Seeking truths that everyone has left behind
Wisdom sings with squeaking beds
A million stories to be told
My bedroom is the universe
And when its drapes are drawn forevermore
My body naked waiting to be stoned
I feel content and blessed to be a whore

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Character: 65/100
Dedicated to: Stella Marr (prostitution survivor)
http://secretlifeofamanhattancallgirl.wordpress.com/about/