I met my first pimp,
And I’m judging, cursing, crying
Cuz I’ve got a daughter
And I saw his girl, too,
And she looked so beaten,
No bruises, no black eye,
just beaten.
Beaten at 19,
Eyes so dull, so devoid of defiance,
And filled with duty.

I’ve got sons, too,
And I wanted to believe he loved her,
He even called her his fiancé,
but, damn, he sat across from me and lied straight to my face.
He sold that story to me like he sold it to her,
Like he sold her body before that,
Off the back pages of a journal entry,
When I grow up…
And I bought it the first time and delivered it up to the DA.
But today, I cried for her and for him,
What could’ve been,
What made a love making into a money making,
What made a boy turn into a pimp,
What looking glass gave another girl broken dreams.


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