#prostitution

111 posts
  • bhagyshre 13w

    Different countries,
    Different cultures ,
    Different customs,
    Different tradition ,
    Different thinking ,
    Different beliefs ,

    The one thing in common is the women suffering to please men !

  • unsung_seagull 16w

    In a cramped part of
    Town, down the
    Unfriendly road.
    Charm is high..
    Under..
    Red lights' tone.

    Apathy lingers,
    In mismatched gowns.
    Under hooded
    Identities,
    Everyone here is
    Just a collective
    Noun.

    Bare bodies,
    Often untouched.
    Their loneliness
    Still unquenched.
    People tread adrift.

    Hotels, motels
    To petty brothels..
    Drought everywhere.

    Half baked souls
    In full-grown bodies.
    Restless minds of
    Thirsty genitals..

    In search of
    Salvation
    Between thighs,
    All are whores of
    Their own desires.

    #synecdoche #wod #pod @writersnetwork @miraquill @writersbay #prostitution

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    Apathy lingers in mismatched gowns.
    Under hooded identities,
    Everyone here is just a collective noun.

    ©unsung_seagull

  • sid_rulz 34w

    Death of feminism


    There was a tinge of sadness in her voice

    It's her inevitable destiny not her choice

    What she's doing is not her wish

    They caged her and suppressed her noise

    When whole world sleeps tight

    The job of her's begins at night

    She starts with make-up to allure

    To live another night as a whore

    For all she's just a piece of flesh

    Used for pleasure in exchange of cash

    Prostitute is a word that sounds filthy

    Can't imagine what her role and value will be

    Our daughters are safe to some extent

    Because she feeds herself with poison of serpents

    What if they do not exist

    Today if some are molested,

    Tomorrow more will be in the list

    They sell their flesh to feed stomach

    Sleep with old and young to come up

    To all the men who made her their muse

    she didn’t speak a word or refuse

    Taken by many cared by none

    That's how a prostitute's life begins

    She tried to escape several times

    Why's she getting punished? What's her crime?

    ©siddharthsingh
    ©sid_rulz

    Image source: To the rightful owner
    #mirakee #writersnetwork #mirakeeworld #mirakeeapp #pod #wod #ceesreposts #obituary #prostitution #curse
    @Odysseus
    @love_whispererr
    @monikakapur
    @poetrydelivery
    @thelunareclipse

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    Death of feminism

    Taken by many cared by none

    That's how a prostitute's life begins

    She tried to escape several times

    Why's she getting punished? What's her crime?

    ©siddharthsingh
    ©sid_rulz

  • nessa_writess 34w

    LIFE DECISION

    A sorry tear can't compensate the broken,
    Few drops of tear can't tell the story,
    If only you could put on my shoes and take a walk,
    Then you will know where its itching,
    Hard to heal, not easy to endure.

    Should I take the easy way?
    Taking this shoes off and walking bare footed,
    But the stones won't spare my feet nor the sun that heats up the path.

    At first I get to walk smoothly, along the way it becomes rough,
    I'd rather put on this shoes and bear it all,
    Even though the journey with it is filled with pain and hardship,Happiness and rejoicing comes after which the shoe bug is gone.
    ©nessa_writes

  • randalthor 50w

    Choose

    Some men choose their wife the same way they choose their hooker.
    ©randalthor

  • crumbled_sheets 53w

    || That Red Street ||

    When she dressed in red
    They called her 'Queen of nights!'
    Later to Enslave
    Undress
    Then Estrage!

    She craved to be that enchanted elixir
    But simmered to be an aroma
    That consigned to oblivion once sniffed for pleasure.

    Beneath her red lipstick
    Hid her cigarette stained lips
    With every puff
    She dragged into her lungs..
    Bits of this cruel world mixed with smoke of despair..

    Like that wrecked ship
    Stuck inside the impossible bottle
    Hid a layered soul
    Inside every stark-naked lady in that brothel

    As the moon lit red
    She adorned her skin
    With all those slurs
    Scattered across the street

    "Scars! Scars!",they smirked
    Texture of her art! she believed


    #prostitution

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    That Red Street

    ©crumbled_sheets

  • jaya___ 62w

    SEX FOR SALE

    There was a tinge of sadness in her voice
    Her life till now hadn't been her choice!

    Yeah heard it right
    I Am a prostitute
    Condemnation as a destitute
    Nobody offers any respect
    My honor not something to protect.
    My work not seen
    As just another job
    Rebuked all life
    My dignity left open.
    Honey, Come and rob.

    Yeah I get a generous helping
    Of soul jarring smirks
    But I can hear none
    Calling out those freaking jerks.
    If being a prostitute is so damn dishonourable
    That I am turned parriah
    An outcast, never included
    Why wolves come out on nightly trips for my body to be intruded?

    Come on then, give me some "respectable" work to do
    Me, born to a damned whore
    Never taught
    So you say I inherited this chore.
    Yeah yeah come on now
    Smack your disgust on my cheeks each damn day
    To smear in your approval
    Whom do I go to pray?

    Whatever I do never do I get
    Validation
    This disease I acquired what do I do for its
    eradication

    Judge me slut ok?
    Say it is this I deserve
    Why on the pedestals you made
    My place you didn't reserve?

    I sell my body
    Come close goddamit
    It stinks of you
    You grope me, and lick my teats
    Next morn ye call me out cheats
    Let me open and tell ye true
    I am far more pure than foul you
    When counting the sins that you accrue.
    ______________________________
    Copyright Jaya Harfkaar 23-9-20

    Prostitution takes two. So if all shame is hers...why anonymity for the gentleman who bought her for sex for a night?
    Sick people. Sick us.
    ________________________________
    Pic credit: chronicflowers on IG
    Actually it's Bria Vinaite from the movie The Florida Project
    #sadness #prostitution #womenrights #feminist #speakup @writersnetwork @mirakee #pod #daadigotyourback #genuine_readers

    PS. Dearest friends all tags you have for me..I kinda miss them often..tho I try my best to you know always read..so starting hashtag readthisJ put this in posts you want me to read and I'll surely check (will tryna read my best)

    PPS. my blogs OUT!!! So run to the link in bio and read!! Movie and music lovers will find it fun more so....love you all!!

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  • geet_001 62w

    उसे पैसों के लिए बेचा गया
    और हवस के लिए खरीदा गया
    ©kuchunkahibaatein10

  • amirag 64w

    I am not sure, what to call myself.
    Not because I am nameless. No,
    But instead, I have too many,
    to choose from.

    Endearments, which are used
    for me aren't really respectable.
    Well my goddess is Aphrodite,
    The goddess of love, beauty,
    Passion and the patron
    goddess of prostitution.

    I wasn't bought or sold into
    this, but instead I was birthed
    Into it.
    I never had a chance to leave,
    Or a choice to choose from.
    My fate was written since the
    day I was born.

    My door is locked,
    And my window is barred.
    But, my door is privileged
    to be opened throughout,
    The night.

    Every night I see a stranger,
    Entering in my slammer trying
    to find a diversion in pleasure.

    They say, I am in a business
    of pleasure, but it's an irony,
    That the numerous scars
    littering on my body, never
    saw an ounce of Pleasure.

    Some of them here are by
    choice, while others are
    forced, sold or bought.
    But, anyhow they have
    already accepted their
    gruesome fate.
    While, my door is still
    locked , telling them
    stories of my 'defiance'.

    In this dark red world
    of ugly fate, my defiant
    soul is my only escape.

    #prostitution #prostitute #caged #prisoner #forced #pain #hurt

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    Prostitute

    Not by choice.
    ©amirag

  • vodka_lips 65w

    My body ached,
    Everytime I move, it hurts
    Hair tangled, body sticky
    Not a sight to behold.
    Standing near the window
    I stared the busy streets below
    A cigarette was lighten and found its way to my lips
    A puff was dragged
    Smoke inside, smokes outside
    Some on my face, some in my lungs
    Working its magic on the melancholy, I live.

    Passers keep staring, my black and blue body, like a hawk
    Lust evident in their eyes
    Wonder why?
    I'm stark naked, from head to toe
    Those stares don't bother me anymore
    I ain't the subject of eyesore.
    Dissipating smokes, made me think about past
    I wonder what is that?
    My conscious provide me pictures of bodies
    Above me, under me
    Like a doll, they used me, they enjoyed me
    Paying me some money they channel their inner beast on me.

    A knocking sound, broke my reverie
    Bringing me back to the night
    Dressing up, I saw someone in the mirror
    In a skinny outfit, a voluptuous body
    Red luscious lips, those black doe eyes
    All ready to be the prey of the night...

    #pod #prostitute #prostitution #life #thoughts #diary #writerstolli
    @mirakee @writersnetwork @readwriteunit

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    Ohh Darling
    I'm best at selling my body to fill this belly of mine...

    ©vodka_lips

  • ciara1 77w

    Why Men Love Harder Than Women?

    Most women today do not love men, they love men for what they have. Some of you men probably went through this experience with a woman or still is in a relationship with a woman that constantly begs. Every time you see that woman she either asks you for money, wants you to take her places because you have a car, and she does not. The relationship is all about the woman and that is not good. I had experienced that so much with my boyfriend in the past. I would use him for food, money and I always wanted him to take me to grocery stores because that was so convenient for me, instead of me getting on the bus. I was a gold digger. I was raised as a gold-digger. I was taught to use men for what they have. Every man I had sex with, I would use them afterward.
    That is why women should always take accountability for their actions. Women do not take accountability for their actions. We always blame the situation on the man. We would always say it is the man's fault. No, it is not the man's fault. Most women do not realize what they did wrong in relationships. Do not blame the situation on the man. It is not the man's fault or the woman's fault. It is the situation that is the problem. When we get into arguments or disagreements with our partners or spouses. We should not blame the situation on one another. Blame it on the problem. The problem is the problem, not the man or the woman. I have learned that from a relationship counselor. 
    Me, saying that I was a gold digger in my past was my accountability. I know all the things I did were wrong, and it was not those men's fault who I had sex with. I was the one that had taken advantage of them in the past. 
      For the men that are reading this informative poem. Do not get into a relationship with a woman that sees you as a beta male provider. You do not want a woman that is only with you because you provide for her. If you are in a relationship with a woman right now that is using you. It is your choice to decide if that woman is the right one for you. Let her know that you do not want her to see you as a man that provides. That woman is supposed to love you as a person. If she says she only loves you for what you do for her, then she does not love you for you. That is a red flag in a relationship. That is why communication is always the key to all relationships. Always tell your wife or husband how you feel about a situation. Do not hold your feelings in. If you are a poet, and I know all of you are poets and writers on this app, including myself. If you ask your wife or your husband what do they love about you? And he or she tells you that they love you for who you are as an honest man or an honest woman that is talented in what you do as a writer or poet. That woman or man loves you for you, and not what you can do for them. That woman loves you because you are gifted and smart in many ways. Now that is what love is, loving someone for who they are.
     The reason why most men love harder than women is the fact that he does not love that woman for her. They think they are deeply in love with that woman because of who she is, but they do not. Men go by the physical, which is the woman's body. That man loves her vagina. The vagina has a commodity. Vagina has value. Some men would kill over a vagina. That is how powerful the vagina is. The vagina is the best thing a man could ever have. What is the oldest profession in the world? That is prostitution. Prostitution is the oldest profession in the world. Going back in biblical times. In the Book of Genesis talks about all the sins that started. What caught my attention in that chapter was prostitution. Prostitution for women was a tool for them to use in those times. They used what they got to get what they wanted. That is selling their bodies to men. The vagina has power. I used to use my vagina to get what I wanted in my past. There is so much that a woman could gain from their vaginas. Now, as a Christian woman, I know selling my body to a man or a woman is ungodly. Prostitution is ungodly. Prostitution is a sin according to the Bible. I understand everybody is not spiritual or religious. If you are not a spiritual person, it is always good to seek help from experts such as relationship counselors or therapists. I have met a lot of guys in the past that told me they were in love with me or caught deep feelings towards me. I realized that those men did not love me for me. They were not in love with me, they were in love with my body. 
    Now, I am with a man who loves me for who I am and I love him for who he is.
    ©ciara1

  • abhinav_desa 85w

    If prostitution is a SIN
    I wonder what loving one person and marrying another will be!!

  • _syaah 94w

    शीर्षक:- तवायफ़
    -------------------
    मोहब्बत किसी की धर्म, जाति और व्यवसाय नहीं देखती ये बस दिल मे बसना जानती है।
    --------------------
    लघु-कहानी-1


    हर रविवार आपलोगों को ऐसी ही कहानियां पढ़ने को मिलेंगे यहाँ @_syaahपर।
    --------------------
    आज कुछ नया पोस्ट किया हूँ, उम्मीद है आप सबको पसंद आएगा। अपने विचार #comment में जरूर बताएं।
    --------------------
    #lamhonkisiyahi #zindagi #socialissues #shortstories ##tawaif #prostitution #bistar #hindiurdu #urdulove #storylove #microtale #laghukahaniya #diary #thoughts #nanotales ---------------------
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    #mirakee #writersnetwork #quotes #quote #writersofinstagram #stories #ttt #quoteoftheday #writersofig #writersofmirakee #wordporn #writing #writer #humwatan_in -----------------------
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    मृणालिनी! सुनो तो!

    प्यार करता हूँ तुमसे कोई मज़ाक नही। यार दिल से चाहता हूँ तुम्हे। समझा करो जान।

    देख आकाश अगर हम-बिस्तर होना है तो मुझे कोई आपत्ति नहीं और तेरे साथ तो एक चरम सुख मिलता है लेकिन ये प्यार मेरे बस की बात नहीं।

    तुम हमारे प्यार को ऐसे गाली नही दे सकती।
    प्यार हमारा कब? और रही बात गाली की तो मैं खुद एक गाली हूँ।
    कभी तवायफ़ कभी वैश्या तो कभी रंडी और ना जाने किन किन नामों से तुम्हारी मृणालिनी को लोग बुलाते है।
    हम तवायफ़ बिस्तर गर्म कर सकते है, किसी के घर की रौशनदान नहीं बन सकते।

    ©_syaah

  • artidutt 101w

    It seems so funny that after giving everything to this profession.
    I got nothing but only scurrilous words for myself


    Thedarkpen
    ©artidutt

  • halseydelgado 102w

    "Schöne Crystal" - Lesen auf Wattpad o. Belletristica

    Jeder Mensch hat Probleme. Und Macken. Aus Problemen werden Macken und Macken machen Probleme. Und aus diesen Problemen werden dann Gedanken. Gedanken führen zu Entscheidungen. Entscheidungen verändern uns. Einschnitte können zu Schnitten werden, uns verletzen und Narben verursachen, die wir erst dann bemerken, wenn es bereits zu spät ist.
    ©halseydelgado

  • tracyossment 112w

    The city of joy

    She wakes up before dawn,
    Dips herself into the holy Hoogli river.
    Her mane, dripping wet. 
    Droplets from her hair leaving trails
    On the steps of Babughat.

    She cooks in the morning.
    The tang of her macher jhol
    And Alu posto,
    Fills the air of her para.

    At midday, she can be seen,
    At the academy,
    In the strokes of an underrated artist's brush.
    From the rap cyphers at Nandan
    to the cacophony of Esplanade.
    The bustling noise of the traffic
    Narrating stories that are left untold.
    Stories of her life.

    The crowd of office goers on the train,
    A metro ride to Uttam Kumar,
    Bargaining with the yellow taxi driver,
    Kathi rolls at park street,
    Watching young love on the benches of Sarobar,
    The artistry at Kumortuli.
    She has ample stories
    To fill up all the pages, the world could provide

    When the sun goes down
    She can be seen under the red lights.
    Dressed in glitters that will blind your eyes.
    Layers of makeup to hide her pain.
    She sells herself,
    To satisfy your greed and lust.

    Sometimes she lights up a joint at the green zone
    Sometimes  overburdened by expectations and responsibilities,
    she collapses at Majherhat or Ganesh talkies.

    At the end of the day
    She returns home to her daughter.
    With just enough money to buy her books
    No new clothes for her this Durga puja.

    She laughs,  she cries
    She is innocent yet wise
    She is crowded, still lonely
    Filled with art, but no one to buy.
    The city of joy has teary eyes.
    ©tracyossment

  • sarayuuuu 113w

    WAS IT MY FAULT?

    Why was my beauty beheld by a stranger,
    Does it look like my choice to have been the canvas of scars, deep and major?
    ©sarayuuuu

  • sarayuuuu 113w

    HOW DID I REACH?

    Women having each other's backs are indeed a sight of tremendous glory,
    But is it even true, cause it's a 'she' who's the villain of this story.
    ©sarayuuuu

  • ambushhunter 115w

    ©ambushhunter

    Uski aabroo har shaam bazaar me kuch istarah biki ki
    Nirlajta uski aadat ho gayi

  • soaringeyes 116w

    Darling

    I came from the underbellies
    Of the most beautiful cities.
    I have spent countless sleepless nights
    Staring at cobwebs, counting footsteps
    In dingy hotel rooms and broken down houses,
    In tiny storehouses and gigantic abandoned warehouses.
    I have never worried about people,
    My only worries are the pennies in my purse
    And the hands of the new man next to me every night.
    Their faces though are always hazy memories,
    Their touches familiar similarities.
    When I walk in the daylight,
    The women glower with eyes brimming with gossip and silent jealousy,
    And the men avert their eyes with sudden shame.
    They were the ones who turned up at my door last night;
    Or at my corner of the road-
    With their broken notes and greasy fingers.
    They talked love to me before they left me
    Their pleasures derived, their means fulfilled.
    They called me darling last night,
    Today morning I was a slut.
    ©soaringeyes