The Virgin Prostitute

By Ananya Mittal

No shame

Neither a character Bared herself

To many men

It didn't matter,

She'd never actually been touched, It was only in pictures,

The Prostitute They call her, The Virgin,

They struggle with.

The past,

No one knew, The struggles,

And oh, the depression, Such a joy,

Was her life.

Sleepless nights,

She still felt those hands on her body, She loves the night though,

She gets to become a warrior then, To battle her demons.

Unbelievable,

How much she believed in love, The Virgin Prostitute

All she saw,

Were hundreds of different pairs of eyes, Undressing her,

Their minds explicit,

The hands return every night, Increasing in number,

Nowhere in sight. The Virgin Prostitute Paid the price.

By Ananya Mittal