I am hurting.
Hurting beyond the point of knowing or even remembering a time without hurt.
I hurt, as I act unhurt.
I am grieving.
Grief is grabbing every cell inside my body.
Grief is shaking up my brain.
I grieve, but show no tears, have no sorrow.
I have a warrior deep in me.
A warrior who stares out into nothing.
Seeing what has no words.
Seeing with eagle eyes a pain that engulfs her heart.
My warrior is weeping slow inside her heart.
I have an anger, a rage.
Rage as I see, I know millions of my prostituted Sisters are dying, are being destroyed.
Destroyed as all eyes turn away.
Look away saying it is not so bad – others have it worse.
Is it ok to be raped so much that there no language left.
Is it ok to create humans as goods to poke, twist, bite, hit and abuse for entertainment.
Is it ok that my prostituted Sisters died and no-one cares they have gone.
But we should not complain, we must not go on.
My warrior is gasping for oxygen, as death seems so welcoming.
We must not complain.
For everyone knows the prostitute choose their own lifestyle.
We are so stupid, so masochistic – we choose to exist inside hell.
My warrior soul is white with rage.
I may faint as words lose all meaning, as language cut up my throat.
You speak choice – say it many times, say it loud – make it true.
You want that we must have chosen prostitution.
If we speak your language – even as it is choking us to death.
Then you gaze into prostitution with the burden of caring, without the inconvenience of responsibility.
See us and say it was freely chosen.
Then you make men that buy us to rape us invisible.
Then you make the whole structure and highly organised way men profiteer from our rapes invisible.
Say we must have chosen it – you are saying.
Saying we are the unrapeable.
Saying we do not have normal human reaction to pain and degradation.
Saying we are never human – so we have no rights.
Do you not hear my warrior soul screaming at you in shock and outrage.
You will never hear the silent screaming.