"The Prostitute"

Random write.

She knows the smell of junkies in the morning all too well.
Some nights she can actually sleep well, when the shadows tell her stories of bullets and dead friends.
It’s hard to wake up in a broken home, it’s even harder to wake up in broken surroundings.
Just the same, you can’t have an ugly picture inside of an uglier picture frame.
And what happens when her body becomes her job?
Jenny is turning 17.
A prostitute with a young, hard body, and hands that’ll make you go “Damn, I wish tipping w****s was proper.”
She’s been broken for 11 years now.
The first time she got raped by her step-father.
Her mom still blames Jenny for her step-father leaving.
Jenny often cries.
Not because of the pain she’s been through.
Not because of getting raped, or being a prostitute.
No.
She just cries because she knows that no one out there will ever give a s**t about girls like her.
To them girls like her will never be more than a w***e, one night stand, and a 17 dollar blow job.
Now, I do not know Jenny.
I do not know Michelle, Susy, the girl down the block, your sister, your daughter, or your girlfriend.
But I do know she has a story.
And I do know that somewhere out there she’s waiting for a hero.
One that will never come.
Not one that flies, can bench press Pluto, cut diamonds with laser vision, or wears tights so tight her can cut the same diamonds with his n*****s...
no.
She is waiting for the one with a steady job, a roof, something to eat, and a shitload of compliments.
Even if they are all bullshit.
You, you know her.
All too well.
And you ignore her, all too often.
Next time you see her, please, the best thing for her to hear, stick your head out your window, and say “You look beautiful today.”
Because sometimes the book cover may be dusty.
But do NOT call it worthless, some stories just come from a half-assed book shelf from Wal-Mart.