Standing on the edge of morning, scent of sex and New Found Glory playing as she's pulling back her hair. She drives away, she's feeling worthless; used again, but nothing's different. She'd stay the night but knows he doesn't care. At home by three; a deafening quiet. The porch light's off, guess they forgot it. She'd cry herself to sleep but she don't dare. And she wants to be a model, She wants to hear she's beautiful. She's beautiful. I want to save you.. Dressed by dawn and out the door, no light, she memorized the floors so she could leave without being detected. She works till three; it's uniform, she dreams that he'll come by the store. She prays for days when boys mean she's protected. And she wants someone to see her, She needs to hear she's beautiful. She's beautiful. --- I slipped out from underneath the rough motel room blanket and dressed quickly. The man in the business suit was still asleep. His tie, still attached to his bare neck was folded over in such a way that I was reminded of the paper accordions my class had made in second grade. I knew I had to push those memories out of my mind, I was leading a double life and I couldn’t let the two become intertwined. There were the pleasant lunches with my Dad, he would invite me to a restaurant and wear that worried look as he told me I was two thin. I suspected he was leading a double life as well. On the other side of things there were the nights. Scoring hits here and there with any money I had made the night before. Never being careful to put enough money aside for the month’s rent. Andrea and I would get dolled up; she’d ask to do my makeup-hair-clothes. She always put on far too much lipstick and hot pink blush but all was made worth while when she’d caress my face or tell me I was beautiful. I needed to hear I was beautiful back then. After trying to stitch together the runs in our pantyhose we’d lock the apartment doors and hit the streets. I was always picked up first and I felt ashamed each time I would pass her, shifting in the passenger seat of another stranger’s car, praying to survive the night. The funny thing is that as much as I hated myself, hated my body, hated the random men I slept with to make a buck; I had these rules. Unlike most hookers I had boundaries that I set. I wouldn’t get into a car that had any sign of a family. A car seat in the back was an automatic pass. No kissing, the only people who ever kissed me in my life were my mother, my father and James. You aren’t my friend, I don’t care about you, you mean nothing to me you won’t kiss me. As much of a junky as I was; I wouldn’t ruin a family, or give away my lips for my next fix. No one knew who I was. During the lunches with my Dad he would look into my eyes, I knew he was looking past the dark circles in the lower creases, he saw that I had a secret and I was too tired to care. I was screaming inside and I longed to scream at him. I wanted to tell him how tired, how sore, how sick I was becoming. I wanted him to protect me from these strangers, I figured it was time to step up to plate and fight for me, unlike he had fought for me when I lived under his roof with the stepbrother, but I was just too tired. I hated him. I hated my mother. I hated James. They had turned their backs, walked away. Unable to stand me and everything I was. Now, looking back I don’t blame them. But then… I was a seventeen year old hooker, hidden behind makeup, fishnets and high black boots. Your mother’s crossed the street, pushing you in your stroller. They didn’t want you to see me, to grow up and be just like me. I was a seventeen year old hooker, and no one knew my name.