Is This Work

A poem for why I refuse the expression “sex work”.


Sex could be love

Not that as I knew


As eyes fuelled by porn

Laced with hate


This is just sex

Not sex as I should of known it

No communication

No easing of the heart

Just sending pain into every cell of me

What I had forgotten was me

I just existed

Forgetting everything but

I was some fuck-toy

Without any right to be human


When you place work onto me and all the prostituted

You silence us

You think you do a good thing

Handing us worker’s rights

God don’t play into the hands of our torturers

Making it easy to make

Invisible our rapes in the millions

Our tortures in the millions

You silence all that

Shut us inside indoors

Then you don’t see our shattered bodies

Not knowing our hopes for an exit

Call it a job maybe hard

Maybe with many risks

Such as sexual violence having pay stolen being made sub-human

But just a hard job which is chosen

So why complain


One response to “Is This Work

  1. I want to appreciate what you’re saying but the word-per-line format makes it hard for me to read. May I lovingly suggest re-formatting for readability?


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