Babysitter

Babysit my attention

I don’t want to be left alone with my thoughts

I babysat young children when I was still a child myself

When I was a sex worker at age 20, I told my friends and family that I was a babysitter;

Both jobs require you to work late hours and pay cash

It was for less than a year, but the PTSD lasts a lifetime

I fell down a rabbit hole of sexual trauma

I was perfectly trained to be a professional rape victim from my real life experiences

There is no protection for sex workers

Clients violate any semblance of boundaries

I tried to shout ‘No!’ but only a soft ‘yes’ came out

Customer satisfaction was prioritized above protecting my body from harm

Every time I took an HIV test I was sure it would come back positive

Maybe if I had said ‘yes’ to the screening questions of ‘have you ever exchanged sex for money?’ some resources may have been offered from the public health worker- why was that the only question I said ‘no’ to?

The truth shall set you free

But I was trained by my family to rely on no one and nothing, to survive on sheer grit and ingenuity

Babysit my attention, inform and entertain me

Here and now, I sit in stillness and embrace the present in deep gratitude

Now

I used to run with the boys

I was determined to prove that I had the biggest balls, that I could withstand it all

Until I couldn’t stand how near death my own ego brought me

When men bought me

I thought I was clawing my way out of poverty

But no amount of money can undo the trauma I endured

All I can do is rewire my brain

Write my story to have a happy ending

Starting with a happy now

I outran the boys and became a rich man so that I didn’t have to marry a rich man

Now I am happily married to the man of my dreams

I don’t ruffle my feathers over the penis-size competition at work- the self-stroking of egos which is habitual amongst my male colleagues

Though I am attracted to women, I’ve never had a penis

I’m ok with that- at least I’ve never raped anyone, never left anyone stressed about what they couldn’t see- STIs and pregnancy

I am happy now, as happy as can be after one has endured the smattering of battering my childhood gave me

I continued the chain of abuse on myself into adulthood, not realizing my own role in the game, not seeing how I invited abusers into my life

I’m getting off this trauma-train; I jump off the caboose, let it ride away without me

Next to the tracks, nestled in the woods, I am happy now

Basement

If I were a guy

I wouldn’t have to choose which pregnancy lives and which dies

I wouldn’t have to lie

To keep my body balanced precariously over a precipice of shame

I wouldn’t have to remain silent about my pain

If I were a guy

I wouldn’t widen the depths of a woman’s trauma by asking her about the depths of her trauma

I wouldn’t judge a woman on the depth of her trauma

If I were a guy

Life would be simple and easy

You ask me about every fuck and every fetus, like it is your business

It is not your business

Do you really want to know about the countless rapes I’ve endured

Not just at the hands of guys

Girls and women, my own mother was the mother of all trauma

Do you want me to describe what it feels like to have your inside pried open and the most vulnerable part of you wounded, scraped raw as you sacrifice the new life you desired, the miracle at your core from another night as a whore

Left to wonder forever unknowing what might have been, who they might have been

It was enough for me to cut the ties

From guys I didn’t want in my life

I cheated on every last one of them, a string of infidelity leading to you

Why do you want to hear that, what would it do?

Maybe then you’d know who you married

But I’m trying to build a new life, live my best life, start anew with a clean slate, move with you to a new state

I don’t want to lie anymore, don’t want to hide anymore, but let me be myself or I’ll show you the door even though it will break me even more

Try as I might by inviting drama into my life, I am unbreakable

You try to crack me not knowing that I’ve been practicing for this my whole life

I’m sorry you are a part of my web of lies but let’s make the best of it I don’t want any more terrible surprises, even as I plant these words like a bomb under the floor.

Triggers are an invitation to see what is in the basement

My heart is in the basement but even our basement has a plant growing where the concrete is cracked

I’m trying to be that plant, don’t hold me back

Dear Mom

Dear Mom,

Please don’t judge me for being a sex worker in order to make ends meet

You taught me how to dissociate from my body, how to put other’s wants ahead of my needs

You were my first violator and my first pimp

Remember molesting me at night throughout my childhood and adolescence?

You opened the floodgates for countless rapes

Remember forcing me to do things I didn’t want to do my whole life?

Pimping me out to abusive children who you ‘felt sorry for’ because they did’t have any friends

The reason why they didn’t have any friends is because they weren’t good friends. Like you, they were trapped in abuse

Oscillating between abuser and abused

Remember commanding me yet never asking or listening?

I told you I was depressed, you told me I was not

The middle school guidance counselor called you to pick me up from school because I was suicidal-

All you did was yell at me

You found out I was a sex worker by violating my privacy

You yelled at me to respect myself

Yet you never respected me and actively taught me to disrespect myself

How can you expect me to fly when all you ever did was drag me down and break my wings

You raised me in poverty

Gave me no financial resources, no guidance

I was hungry, I had textbooks to buy and rent to pay

You want to take credit for my success

I became who I am in spite of you, not because of you

Though I see the crucial role you played

At the end of the day all I can say is namaste

Enlightened AF

You can never get to the end of it, you said about The Divine

Your words drew kaleidoscopic visions in my mind

I used to feel oppressed by poverty

Now I know I was only oppressed by the false beliefs within me

All the riches were always inside me

To the mind that is still, the whole universe surrenders

Beyond the collapsing walls, the sky is open

I am still tormented by the torrent of my thoughts

Then I think, ‘I don’t belong in anyone else’s head, nor do they belong in mine’

I try to let go of unhelpful thought-patterns

Such as my deep disappointment when I deem myself as less than perfect in every way, which happens multiple times each day

I may not be able to unthink a thought, but I can balance a negative with a positive, I can let the cloud float away without latching on all day

Today I was transported back to the time when I’d jerk off men for pennies on the dime

Now in the context of a trained medical professional providing a form of physical therapy to another doctor

Standing next to the massage table, I felt as if I hadn’t come far even after all the struggle and sacrifice to get out of poverty, to give my kids a better life

I remind myself that I have enough and I am enough

In my humble, imperfect way

I am enlightened AF sometimes

Sleep Talking

Long ago and far away

On a bus grinding through the night

The air thick with sweat and grime

All we had was time

Beer and ice cream on my lips

Bitterness and liquor on his

The man next to me said that I was afraid of talking in my sleep

He overstepped the boundary that I failed to establish between us

Sometimes when I wake up alone, I wonder if my lover heard me sleep-talking and left me to wallow in my past

I want to tell him the truth about my life, but I fear that he would stop loving me,

or worse- rehash it endless times and tell his religious family who would judge me as a hell-bound, lying, baby-killing whore

They’d be right, in a sense

I have exchanged sex for money and I’ve had 3 abortions, each one horrible in its own way, but not as bad as being stuck in an abusive, disempowering situation

Judge not, motherfuckers

I don’t want any man to judge the decisions I’ve made about my body

Least of all a man who is financially dependent on my career: a profession which swallowed my fetuses whole

My past is nobody’s business but my own

I don’t want to be given a hard time for the hard times I’ve already been through

I’m trying to heal and move on

I’m trying to meet myself with compassion for the trauma I’ve endured

I am strong and tough and vulnerable and delicate

My dark secrets are at once more innocent and scandalous than my jealous partners imagine

I didn’t want to be pregnant anymore so I stopped being pregnant

You weren’t supporting me by being broke and leaving me shamefully unmarried

I didn’t want to spend the weekend with you so I didn’t

I regret the weekend away because the other men treated me both better and worse than you, but I love you- painfully clear now that the hormonal storm of pregnancy has simmered down

Why do I set myself up for drama and disaster? I’m trying to heal but your rehashing of the past dredges up emotional detritus, dragging me back

My old stress addiction dies hard

I clamp my jaw

My teeth grind like a bus in the night

I pray that I didn’t sleep talk last night

Samurai

Before I knew how to love,

I freely offered up my heart

Blind shot in the dark

I was the one who dropped my heart on the floor

From my open hands

Not knowing that I had smashed through a door

Not knowing what I would gain

Not knowing what I could never lose

No one seemed to notice, no one intervened

As I set out on my own

Lifting the veil, stepping through the screen

It wasn’t easy

I made every possible mistake

Burning my fire to fulfill other people’s desires

I was able to do everything and anything,

Because I already felt dead

From the heartbreak which split and throbbed in my head

I flipped circus tricks in the strangest of beds

Unscripted, I drifted

I met so many people

I worshipped under unconventional steeples

Life is my book, my science, my art

It all started when I sacrificed my heart

Everyday I learn how to love more

Love myself, my life, my family

Love even the dregs of humanity

Those who have yet to wander away from themselves

Those who have yet to realize who they really are

Because they cling so tightly to their identity

I’m privileged to live like a Samurai; at once warrior, servant, and free

Trafficked

It was the perfect storm

I was trained to be cute, sweet, polite, considerate, generous, charming

To smile, to be physically fit yet seductively feminine,
to carry a conversation that made those around me feel at-ease, with never too long of an awkward silence and never a word to question or confront the person before me

I was trained to look fresh and smell like a flower,
to say yes

I was trained to not listen to my body, not speak my truth, not honor myself

I was trained to put the lavish wants of others before my basic needs

I learned to disassociate from my body every time it was violated

Too early and too often it was violated

Outward I smiled and said yes, while I silently I screamed within- a deafening din

Time after time, girls, boys, women and men did horrific things to my body- looked at me, touched me, prodded me, left their bodily fluids in places I couldn’t see

Though I was dying to, I didn’t say no, not out loud at least

On top of my disempowerment, I was impoverished

So of course I became a prostitute- it was the perfect storm

My childhood sexual abuse left me well-trained to be an escort, a sex worker

Pleasing others came naturally to me- it was easier to me than breathing

Even though I was disgusted

It was all I knew how to do

When an advertisement on Craigslist sought out cute, easy-going girls and promised to pay a wage that would allow me to both pay rent and buy food, of course I replied- I was the perfect candidate for that job

I reached rock bottom and crawled out when I could afford to-
I quit all my call-girl jobs: 4 different body-rub ‘happy ending’ massage parlors, and too many gigs in the houses of disturbed men

Although I still attract toxic situations into my life, my situation is infinitely better now, the skies are clearing and the future looks bright

Now when I do home visits or see male genitalia, it is in my work as a physician.
I have gathered hard-earned skills which pay my bills, and best of all-

I feel my heart blossom open after a long, harsh winter

The glow from my spirit is melting the love that was frozen within me- love for myself and for all beings

I salute the sun

I exhale

And bow in gratitude

Safe Space

I currently work in a high-pressure, male-dominated profession
This old school boys club is rough and tumble
Giant egos clash and bash one another
I try to stay below the fray
But they smash me anyway
They don’t care who they hurt
As long as they puff themselves up bigger and louder than all within earshot of their tantrum

I don’t buy into their bullshit
I want to pop their over-inflated egos with my sharp sewing needle
But I keep quiet, for my own safety and sanity
I’ve learned to keep my head down and keep moving forward,
Because I have better things to do than try to teach grown men how to act
They don’t know how to act and I’m not their mama

Despite my best efforts to keep calm, I get stressed out

when my narcissistic, masculine bosses maliciously razz me
They are too afraid to admit that they are afraid
They are too blinded by their vanity to see that fear is the motivator
Behind the furious spinning of their transparent webs of false perfection                                                  The only prey they catch is themselves
I used to be a black widow spider, I know their game
At least I know that I am afraid of imperfection, I don’t play

I also know that I will never be perfect, and I accept that as part of being human

Who are we fooling when we try to act like we are anything other than human?

What brings me peace in the midst of the psychological violence of the workday
Is that no matter how tense and dramatic the guys act, as long as we are at work
I will never have to see them naked, nor will they get to watch me undress
I will never have to please them sexually, talk dirty, or stick their dick in me anywhere

They do not know that I know what they want behind closed doors
They’d never suspect that I am a former sex-worker
Remembering my whore-rrific past soothes me in the pressure cooker of my present job

No matter how bad it gets, it can’t get worse than what I’ve already been through, right?

Special message of respect for the current working girls: I love you and feel a kinship to you stronger than I will ever feel for the over-privileged pricks who are my co-workers now. No matter how far up the career ladder I climb, I will always be by your side as your sister in heart and soul.

With a prayer for serenity and safety to all.

Finding Sukha

Sometimes I feel angry
I could blame my parents for the anger they passed down to me through their nature and their nurture
But they are only survivors of abuse and neglect themselves, victims of inter-generational psychological torture
I like to think that they were doing the best they knew how
With limited resources at the time
It was a different world back then;
There was little awareness and poor preparedness,
Less information and more isolation

Sometimes I feel sloppy
My movements get choppy
I crash, splash and make a mess
I only hope that I don’t take anyone down with me
When I slip and fall
Reminding me that in my haste, I don’t save time at all

Sometimes I feel on edge
I am irritable and my mind carves a ledge
Off of which I can easily slip
Into a hellish well
Of memories echoing back at me
Little things that seem big disproportionately when viewed at close range

Like the time an ex gave me condescending lip
When he proudly pronounced the word ‘dukkha’
Then judged me on how the Sanskrit word (not the concept, mind you) was unfamiliar to my vocabulary at the time

Dukkha is commonly translated as ‘suffering’, which is an important concept in Buddhism because the Buddhist path was designed to liberate people from suffering by helping them first overcome their desires/selfish cravings

I am all for liberation, but his elitist attitude was not resonating with me
That fool tried to school me on suffering like I’d never suffered a day in my life, when I’ve suffered every damn blessed day of my life

So I gave him a lesson in letting go of attachment by leaving him

I thought he could stand to benefit from the lesson and

I don’t need to take shit from a privileged prick about fancy words that I was too busy earning a living through sex work to have the time to learn from a text book

Books are hella expensive anyway

That’s why I gladly share my writing freely

Cuz I want it to reach people like me

People who were born into economic or emotional poverty

Through these simple words I string together

I humbly hope to help alleviate suffering in others

Perhaps it only helps alleviate my own suffering, but even that would be enough

I am a person, too

Also, writing feels like free therapy to me

I’ve still never been to actual therapy

I hear the prices are crazy

But I digress…I don’t have the energy to deal with fits of vanity

from spoiled boys who get off on looking down on me and the rest of the world

I think that instead of judging anyone who hasn’t heard the word ‘dukkha’
It would’ve served him better to find sukha
Sukha means ‘ease’

My point is this:
Everybody experiences dukkha (suffering, pain, unsatisfactoriness or stress) and hopefully sukha (happiness, ease, pleasure or bliss) in their lives
Everyone around the world attends the school of life; we are born, live and die in that classroom
But not everybody has access to the luxury of learning outside of their immediate human interactions
However that makes them no less educated than those who have the resources for recreational reading
At least in my book

So I’d tell that ex (if I could stomach the thought of communicating with him, which I presently don’t)
That if he thinks he is superior to others
Because he’s so well-read
Then maybe he should know
How to fit his ego back inside his head

With compassion, I recognize that fear of inadequacy lies at the root of his speaking boastfully

Here are some lessons that I’ve learned, and they aren’t in Sanskrit:
The ego inflates easily but deflates again eventually, and when the ego balloon gets stabbed by a needle it can be a long, hard fall down to the ground                                                                                                    Liberation from our egos and freedom from our desires is the ultimate gift
Money can buy a book but it can’t buy wisdom
Material wealth will get you inside the ivory tower but it won’t shelter you from suffering

Just look at my ex; he was rich in his wallet but impoverished in his heart-mind
Leaving him so that I could be poor but happy
Was a decision that put me at ease,
At ease like sukha

Sometimes I need a lesson in letting go too

Sometimes I find sukha