Speaking Up; A Poem About Healing From Sex Trafficking

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Photo by Alexis Azabache on Pexels.com

I have to speak.
Every day I see more clearly. Once, I was a child who thought she knew the truth of her transgressions. Then, I was a young woman who covered her past with shame. Now, I am a woman who sees.
I accepted the narrative my abusers gave me. I saw myself through their crooked lens. I believed that I had control, when they were pulling my strings.
It is a dangerous thing to be young and naive, while thinking yourself wise. I blamed myself because I had this illusion of control that you gave to me.
But now, I see.
I see you waiting for me before I ever arrived.
I see you setting up traps before I fell into them.
I see you passing me along with a whisper, changing hands like a hot product to be sold.
I see you making plans, and dragging me into them.
And I also see who I was.
Alone. Desperate. Lost.
I see how you found me from a mile away.
You knew exactly what you were doing.
I remember hearing, “damn I could have made a lot of money off of her”. I escaped that time, barely.
I escaped many times.
I didn’t escape many times more.
I realize now that raping me was a means to an end. It wasn’t just for your carnal satisfaction, but it was a deliberate move to submit me to you.
When I resisted, you expected that.
You used force and threats against me to wear me down.
To teach me. Always listen. Always comply. Always know you are in danger.
And it worked.
I am so damn sad that it worked.
You shoved your hands inside of me and pulled out every last piece of me.
Emptied me.
Wrecked me.
Destroyed me.
Then you picked me up, put some make-up on my hollow face, and said
“Get to work, girl.”

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