I am a fighter – but I fight coz I have know and be inside deep grief.
A grief made from being trapped with no sense of hope.
A grief of having every cell in my body polluted by the violence of the sex trade.
A grief made from seeking love and security in all the wrong places.
A grief of thinking it could only be real sex if I was in agony.
This is the solid grief of what it was to be part of the prostituted class – a grief that appears endless.
It is a grief that pushes me forward.
Forward so no other human should be prostituted, and become tortured as was my norm.
Forward to expose all the punters and sex trade profiteers who enjoy causing this suffering.
Forward to give my prostituted self a sense of pride and self-worth.
But as I go forward – I know my warrior-spirit is weeping – weeping tears I cannot show.
I feel my warrior-spirit carry those memories.
Memories of the countless unspeakable acts of sadism punters planted into me.
Memories of their eyes of hate making me become sub-human.
Memories of blood, injuries internal and external, unwanted pregnancies, marks of strangulations, and constant pain in my vagina and anus.
Memories of my fear of sleeping, in case I made myself too vulnerable.
Memories of asking for help – only not believed, told I must enjoy it, told it does happen in this town.
Memories of gang-rapes as my norm, of being water-boarded as I was anally raped, of having no time to recover from one punter as another waiting his turn.
My warrior-spirit carries these memories, and cannot make them disappear – only hold them and weep with desolation.
I am proud of my warrior-spirit – for real courage is made of vulnerability, being able to know sometimes there can no answers just the strength to see clearly.
Real courage is to see with the eye that is forensic – see your own suffering with detachment mingles with deep compassion and sorrow.
Real courage knows stillness is needed before any fight, stillness to reach inside and remember who the enemy is and what tortures made your fight so vital.
A true warrior does not want to fight – wants to live without any more violence in her life, wants a life that is quiet and even dull to learn how to recover.
A true warriors only fights those who consciously and with pleasure torture, and turn the prostituted class into sub-human.
A true warrior grieves the need to fight.
I will end here.