Chocolate Tears

Chocolate tears run down my face, I am of the black race. Momma died three years ago, H.I.V; A.I.D.S., took her slow. All the love she was looking for, came from paying men at the door; people called momma a black whore, food on the table so, I'm not sure. Mr. Man came here today, told me he knew somone that would pay, with my black body men want to lay, it's the bills that I must pay. I'm fourteen now, and I live with chocolate tears, full of anger and full of fears.This is the story of a young black whore, food on the table so, I'm not sure.