(One of my non-rhyming poems, inspired by research I did on prostitution and sex slavery. Estimated 16 million sex slaves alone, not including prostitutes who aren’t ‘slaves.’ But ‘choice’ and ‘slave’ are very slippery, grey, vague terms in the sex worker industry).
“Prayer of the Dissatisfied Sex Worker”
Don’t buy me.
Please don’t let me be bought again,
Not yet another night, not yet another hour.
Their eyes gawk at me;
I am their idol
An idol, indeed, in my heart’s feeling…
cold, lifeless, stone, with silver overlay
Oh, they love their idolatry, not me.
How shamefully they treat me, their goddess,
Touch of so many, verbs of the mean,
Sure guys, come in…
I’ll be silent or give you a little laugh,
A moan or squeak to make you feel satisfied that you made me so,
Spare me your toxic whispers and sweaty hands,
You don’t hear my moans and squeaks and cries when I’m alone,
Not of laughs, but of tears.
To be the one of just one, oh God, but I can’t get a good one,
Go ahead pimps, have you fun,
But please, tonight,
Someone else, somewhere else,
That I may cry a little again…
Over all the innocence I’ve lost,
All the things I wish I’d never seen,
All those words I long to never hear again,
Please for one night, God, let them not come.