Cry or Scream

I cannot cry or scream.

That was taken from me at such a young age.

I want to cry and scream until the whole of the sex trade is destroy – is just a distance memory.

A memory where humans vaguely remember, but cannot imagine how any culture or society could invent such a system of mental, physical and sexual torture.

I cannot cry or scream.

As in every town, as in the street, as in hotels flash or cheap, as in high-street massage parlours, as in flats in your street, as in rooms above takeaways – as in almost everywhere and nowhere – that torture is hidden in plain view.

I cannot cry or scream.

When torture is named sex work and made so ordinary that it becomes invisible.

I cannot cry or scream.

As every hour of every day – some prostitute somewhere is getting murdered, wiped from the face of earth, disappeared from all knowledge and history.

I cannot cry or scream.

As punters pour every porn-fuelled sexual torture into prostitutes – knowing it no matter for she not real, just holes and hands for his masturbation.

Knowing it cannot be violence – for she was made for this.

Knowing it would wrong to do such violence to real women, that may be rape or some kind of hate – but it just normal for a prostitute.

I cannot cry or scream.

As a small resistance by the prostitute is gravely punished.

As if she attempts to defend herself from the endless rapes, the continual beatings, and the norm that murder could end her – she attempts to have a small piece of self-respect and defend herself.

Only to be laugh at – and brutally sexually tortured to remind her of her place.

Only for pimps/managers to move her into worse violence, move her away from all she can know, move into a place where being the living dead is the only way to have some future.

I have lost so long ago how to cry and scream.

All I have is the constant fight towards abolition.

That can be my crying and screaming.

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