Prostitutes and the rape Culture
Do you remember me?
Do you remember the way you pulled at my hair?
Bit my shoulders
Thighs
Legs
The way you hit me
Leaving marks of yourself over me
The way you flung money on my face
Forcing yourself on me,
Even when I was begging,
PLEADING
For you to stop.
The way you screamed
“Work harder you Trull!
I didn’t waste money for you to stop.”
I
Am the girl
From the Red Room of The Jade House.
I
Am the wench
Who is raped everyday
But,
The Society says
“It’s all for the easy money.”
I
Am the story
Of forty-two million sex toys
Behind the Curtain-less Doors Of Pleasure For Men:
WE
Are just some toys
That men borrow.
Like rental cars.
WE
Are the colors
The Society talk about
In hushed voices
On the corners of deserted streets:
The clothes you never wore
Because they weren’t good enough.
WE
Are the succubuses
Of every man’s dream
We are Pleasure
Lust
Money
And
Sin
BUT
We die a bit everyday.
We’ve felt
Seen
And heard pain
MORE than anyone.
Yet,
NO-ONE holds a candle march
When one of us is raped
Because
“It’s all for the easy money”
Isn’t it?
WE are the Strippers, the Prostitutes, the Sex-slaves:
The Nightmares you wish to never have;
We
ARE THE UNSHED TEARS OF A FORGOTTEN PAST.
Do you remember me now?