For the living and the dead. A post for #dec17
I am writing this on my phone.
The phone men use to contact me for sex.
The phone I use to check for assaults in my area.
The phone I can use to call for help.
The phone the Irish want to remove from me so I must go on the streets.
I am writing this on my phone, the phone I use to post my ads.
The ads which will get me imprisoned in America for making clear what I will and won’t do.
I am writing this on my phone, looking at the condoms that protect me.
The condoms the Scottish want to take away and use as evidence against me.
I am writing this on my phone, in a safe, dry room. A room the Norwegians will evict me from if they discover what I use the phone for.
I am writing this on my phone, the phone that helps Indian sex workers organise and work independently, even though white women say I am not capable of that.
I am writing this on my phone. The phone I use to photograph number plates before I get into a car. The phone that apparently makes me privileged and not representative.
I am writing this on my phone. The phone I use to make a safe call to my partner. Who can be arrested as my pimp for trying to keep me safe.
I am writing this on my phone. The phone I talk to others on who understand my life. But the UK will arrest us if we work together.
I am writing this on my phone, for the living and the dead.
Reblogged this on The Sex Work Brief.
Very, very powerful. Thank you for this.
thank you, from you that means so much
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Absolutely wonderful. This poem sums up what is wrong with the law that is both direct and to the point and in lovely prose.
thank you so much, i thought about doing a long complex arguement, but tbh i think there is no one left to be convinced so just wrote what my heart felt
Reblogged this on how many bananas?.
thank you so much
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