*I struggle to write about my clients. I don’t want to exploit or sensationalize their stories. I’m going to try to speak from my experience. I work at a rape crisis center doing first response, crisis stabilization, counseling, and advocacy for sexually exploited minors.*
The world is ugly.
human beings are terrible people.
i see no beauty.
When a flower grows through the concrete, the next time I see it, it’s been stepped on
Girls are sold.
they are commodified
their bodies exchanged for food, shelter, money
someone hurts their body, someone seeks out their body, someone provides their body, someone buys their body, someone hurts their body
how much would you pay for me?
or maybe your mother? Sister? Daughter?
isnt it fucked how I have to make it personal?
How are we not all outraged.
Service providers struggling scrambling against a network of organized crime
against systems that are rigged
does anybody care?
when they are murdered does anybody cry
do only the social workers shed tears
“her strength brings me to my knees. Her spirit is unbroken.” -Jessica doles
my boss wrote that
i tattooed it on my shoulders
because when clients are murdered I think about how someone decided they are disposable. Someone decided their lives were fleeting.
So i memorialized their resiliency and their strength on my body. Permanent.
I mourn for them. We mourn for them.
There really are no words.
Lightheaded with grief and terror and sorrow
I’m sick with worry for their safety every night
every night it keeps me up
that I’ll get to work and learn, or turn on the news and see, or get a call and hear, that one of them has been murdered
and sometimes, it happens
sometimes a child dies