She painted her lips thick red.
Tasted like wine with the scent of cigarettes.
Worn out stockings and red high heels.
A sassy top, not a cover-too revealing.
Long lashes and curled ebony hair.
If she eyes you she'll give a glare.

Sanya will dance tonight.
In the tables of men where money rests.
After hours she'll force a smile.
Heading home where her siblings lie.
She'll give them food she'll kiss their forehead.
And like she does everynight.
Sanya will sing them a lullaby.