My Personal is Political

I am very scared of how common the tortures that I had to endured are and were just the norms of the sex trade.

I want so much that the “personal” could just be about an individual, that it was so rare that it could be headline news.

Not invisible – invisible because it is happening to millions of women and girls, that is not news.

It is not news to internally trafficked as a child or young teenager. That is just the common practice of many profiteers of the sex trade.

Look closely at the sex trade, and see internal trafficking everywhere, see under-aged girls in all aspects of the industry.

Men want the commodity to be young, to at least have the appearances of being fresh.

From the second the sex trade knew it would flourish – the illusion of the virgin-whore is and was highly marketable.

I was 14 when I entered prostitution, when I was “working” inside sex club.

I was 14, but looked younger – I was the porn-dream of the whore not only young, but too fucked up to care what happened to her body, too dead to know she could resist.

I was just a normal under-aged prostitute – I was the girl on your bus, the girl you walked past on the street, the girl the teacher forgets.

I was just another under-aged whore – I was that girl who tells you to fuck off when you try to be kind, the girl who stayed out closing down why she hates home, the girls with injuries all over her body that she hides.

I was only a statistic – but never allow the luxury of being interesting enough to be human and to have rights.

That time made me political – but not in a nice and structured way.

My personal hell feed what may be called political now.

I learnt as that under-aged whore, that the vast majority of so-called caring world – whether the Left, whether the church, whether politicians, whether feminists, whether social services, whether mental or health care – the vast vast majority don’t give a shit about the average under-aged prostitute.

And, when she hits so-called adulthood, that non-caring attitude is made blatant, and for the vast majority of women in the sex trade there is just abandonment.

My politics come from knowing that most women and girls are thrown under a juggernaut by our so-called caring society.

I write and speak out often and into a state of exhaustion, that women and girls are enduring extreme torture every second of every day.

I write and speak out that these tortures have become so normal that they have been made invisible.

We know in our hearts, that men that choose to buy prostituted women and girls, do so to own her body and soul. We know that, but all the time we run away from the reality of that.

For me, being owned was to have no cell in my body that was my property.

I was fucked, ripped at, smashed up, bitten, spit at, made into a punching bag, made unconscious, strangled, fucked in my throat, fucked in anus – I was made nothing, nothing a living porn-doll.

Being owned is to be in so much pain, that it is zoned out. Being owned in prostitution is not one man, but thousands, numbers of men that the human brain refuses to count. Being owned is only survived by taking on the role forced into you and saying it must be who you are.

We all know in our hearts, that no man goes to some lap-dancing clubs or other sex club, just for drinks and some pretty ladies. We know they view the women “working” there as their possession.

This means they will have the right to feel up the women, can put fingers into their cunts, can hit the women if they are bored or she is up herself, he can pay extra and get her to fuck him, if not he can fuck in the alley behind the club – she is nothing, so he do what he wants.

We know in our hearts that when men speak of doing a stag do they could be using women in the sex trade – but how often do go silent on that or make it a joke.

When they speak of going abroad to say Eastern Europe, Thailand or Amsterdam for lad’s weekend – do really think they see Buddhist temples, paintings, architecture or even just get drunk. Does it not matter to you, they could be destroying a woman or girl just on some kind of stupid bonding experience.

When renting out a stripper or lap-dancer for some stag-do, do really you believe they respect her and see the art of her work. Don’t you want to know the terror of being trapped in a room of drunk and hyped-up men – often egging on each other about how much shit they can do to the whore.

Being touched up then is a let-off, having fingers and fists and objects shoved up you is more the norm, being made to perform porn scenarios is demanded.

Surviving stag-does for the women in the sex trade is remembering to smile whatever pain or degradation is suffocating you, surviving is remembering nothing last forever.

These are some of my experiences, and as usual I could on to the end of time saying the many ways men invented to torture me.

But my major point, is nothing I write here was or is personal – it was just a crime against a whore, any whore – my presence was of no importance.

This is how I became political, knowing I was nothing – and forcing out my voice is the scream – I AM SOMEONE.

I bloody am someone.

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