To write to this blog, I must write to broke – no, smashed up memory.
To truly understand the true horror that is to be prostituted, we must stare with clear eyes into that well of despair.
To remember the realities of being prostituted is to fight wanting to block it all away.
To remember that time is to drown whilst hanging on tight to life.
No wonder to survive, memory is ripped apart.
Now is a time where I am secure and safe enough to piece together that jigsaw of remembering.
There can be no linear ways to remember – no clearness of time, place or even age that I was.
Memory of my prostituted times are inside every cell of my body.
Every day some pain remind me that my body was made into sexual goods.
Every day some pain reminds me that I lost my human rights to having choices, human rights to safety, human rights to dignity.
I have exited, I have re-built my life to be independent and striving towards freedom – but my body memories never forget.
I know I re-built my life in massive ways – but I never get back what the prostituted years stole from me.
Part of my mission in writing this blog – writing relentlessly, writing through trauma, writing when I rather pretend I know nothing about the realities of prostitution – part of my mission is my war to get full justice for those stolen years.
This is not justice for me as an individual, that cannot happen – no it is full justice for all the prostituted living or dead.
This is justice not for all women, but justice for the prostituted class.
We, as the prostituted class, cannot wait for justice as other women gain rights leaving us behind.
We are living inside a genocide, and we are meant to be patience and polite.
No, the prostituted should not wait in line for justice, but grab it with a warrior scream.
I am tired of writings, debates and words about violence of men to women and girls, being about all females except the prostituted.
I am bored of being “educated” that it cannot be real violence when done to the prostituted – so where’s the problem?
I am sickened how our safety and rights are throw away as it explain we choose to be prostituted, so just toughened up.
I write relentlessly, for I want separatism for the prostituted class – I want our multiple truths and voices to be heard, listen to, written out, scream out, made into the arts, be inside every words conflicting male violence.
I want our separate voices and truths to be underpinning the fight to understand why there is male violence, to be all words round control and power in all sexual relationships.
The prostituted class know deep truths about men, violence, sex, hate, consent, power and striving to being fully human – we are a resource and teachers.
So why are we so often tossed aside.