I want to die

I want to die. Don’t worry- I don’t have a plan. There’s no bottle of aspirin on my nightstand calling my name. But I still want to die. I don’t think anyone will ever love me. A psychic told me to close my eyes once and feel the love from all of those who had ever loved you. She said, if no one has ever really loved you take both arms and wrap them around yourself. But the love I feel the least is my own. I fuck just to feel. I smoke just to feel. I snort just to feel. I have only felt two things: death and ecstasy. I’ll never be the young pretty skinny mom with the cute perfect little kids and the perfect engineer husband who goes to church on Sunday and wears Dockers to work. I’m his whore. The girl he picks up on pac highway cause wifey won’t suck his dick anymore. He tells me my boobs are incredible, my pussy is heaven. How did I get into THIS work?, he says. You could have been a model. Or something. I nod. Internally vomiting. I grieve. Because I feel like this will be all I’ll have. Where’s my dockers guy? Do I even want a dockers guy? Would a dockers guy even love a whore like me? What “kind” of guy would? Where is my place? My head hurts. My neck hurts. I want to die.

Invisible. Dry scorched earth. Anger instantly rises up in me. I try to stomp it out. Like a sack of dog shit on my own front porch. Guys look through me, not at me. Hot choking embers. I lay down and wrap both arms around myself.



It goes without saying- we as women do what society tells us, and we get power. Doors open. We don’t, and monkeys throw feces in our faces. Pussy hair. What does yours look like? Is it smooth like a baby? Do you have a “full bush?” Or a “landing strip?”

Why the fuck does our pubic hair-and when I say “our” I’m speaking to female identified people out there- why does it matter so much? For my life, there has always been high demand and extreme pressure to have my pubic hair a certain way (completely bald.) One of my college professors at Seattle Central brought up the issue of pubic hair in society at one point. He said that as society’s gender equality regresses, the physical disparities between males and females increases. This makes sense considering, as Marxism teaches us, capitalism is the reason for gender inequality. So as our modern American society becomes even more hyper-capitalistic or “developed” – haha- women have to be relegated to no body hair below the neck.

But is shaving or waxing ones pubic hair as simple as relegating oneself to the patriarchy? Well. I think it’s complicated. Let’s be real- acceptance by the ruler is power. One can get the keys to the kingdom. Kind of. Maybe. There is also the illusion that it can be very risky for us to alienate ourselves by not playing by the rulers’ … well… rules. Women are supposed to be “good girls” and not rock the boat. We aren’t encouraged to buck the system or say fuck you or fuck that the way men are. Cause then we’re bitches and cunts. We also have pressure on us to get married and have children, to make a happy family and a happy partner in ways men aren’t. So, hey, if our boyfriend wants shaved pubes or hairy pubes then it’s our responsibility to give him that. Right?

its hard as women to live totally independently of what we’re “supposed” to be. But I think even small steps toward autonomy from the patriarchy are important. Our own vagina’s are a good place to start.

Power and Privilege

I’m gonna talk about something that makes my blood boil.. Ooooo… Ok breath… Calm down…

Power and privilege in the sex industry. If I have to hear one more San Francisco-trust fund- hipster-cool-to-act-poor motherfucker totin’ around their fancy ivory tower BERKELEY MPH’s I’m just gonna burst into flames. No I’m gonna set fire to those privileged piece of shit douche turds.

I have a college degree. I was also a Sex Worker and at another point in time a victim of forced prostitution. There is no alchemy that says a hooker should have a degree, and there is none in my eyes saying that they should not. Yes yes yes I can hear your inner monologue already… But, it’s a great thing if a marginalized and stigmatized community can gain access to resources! Offfff courseeeee. How-fucking-ever that is also assuming that all Sex Workers are living with an equal and perfectly aligned portion of oppression V. privilege in their lives. No way. It is wonderful if a Sex Worker has the desire to achieve a certain goal and then can manage to get ahold of the appropriate resources to make that happen, but let us not pretend that every Sex Worker is so fortunate.

So while any and all Sex Workers should have the right to gain education and a degree(s) what they do NOT have the right to do is wield that privilege of a college education like a weapon against others in the industry. You are not fucking better, smarter, more enlightened, more qualified to speak on our community etc because you had privilege. fuck you assholes who balance privilege with oppression/marginalization (like we all do to varying degrees) and don’t use that privilege- like getting a degree- as an opportunity to let our community speak for itself. We don’t need your gilded voice speaking for those who don’t have your same privilege. What we need is accountability on the part of us in the industry who are lucky enough to have economic privilege and willingness for those of us who have that privilege to give it away.


Allow me to be fucking raw for a second: and fuck what you think about me. Did you get that? F-U-C-K what you think. I want you to feel my rage. My lack of giving a shit. My defcon 5 in your fucking face gonna slit your throat R-A-G-E.

Oh, I’m sorry. Are you uncomfortable yet?

Fuck you.

This is your stereotype- a feminist CUNT not saying please and fuck your thank yous. This is the anger you created.

I cried last night. On the way home. Because I’m broken. I try to talk, but I have no way to feel. People ask my thoughts, and I say “I dunno.” Not because I dunno but because the brain ain’t connected to the heartbone and the heartbone ain’t connected to the head bone and the… you get what I mean. People tell me all the time I have a dead affect. When people ask me what I feel I say “I dunno.” It’s like there should be something there but it’s just a dark, dank snakehole.

I grieve for what I’ll never be: normal. I’ll never be able to drink, use drugs, have a healthy relationship to love or sex… or have normal brain chemistry. I’ll always be a “crazy” person. Nutty bipolar who thinks the nazis are after her or the devil is talking to her…maybe another day I’m in manic ecstasy making completely idiotic and life altering decisions. Or I’m walking down Highway 99 at 1am trying to get someone to murder me or I decide my new great goal in life is to be a “crack whore” so I start doing that. How do I keep myself safe when this is my best thinking? I cry because I’m terrified of myself. I can take medication, which I do, but I still have the mania and the depression… it’s just hopefully not as severe.

I feel broken. I am terrified of men. I have been raped more times than I have had consensual sex. I think this was the main draw into sex work for me. All the men I engaged in sex work with were fairly polite, respectful and I never had an instance (thank god) where anyone crossed my boundaries. Every boyfriend I have had has raped me. My ex fiance would grab me by the hair and force oral sex upon me. He also would threaten me that if I did not give him anal sex, he would rape me. So he did. My dad has raped me.I was thrown in a dank crawlspace at 2 years old and locked down there without food, light, water or air on a daily basis. And raped. I was forced into prostitution and porn in Washington Heights in NYC when I was 18 by a very smooth talking gorgeous guy whom I thought was my boyfriend. Sex Work has never violated me. Boyfriends, male authority figures and intimate male relationships have ALWAYS violated me.

This is me, my struggle. I don’t really care whether or not it fits into your definition of sex work or what a sex worker is or what a feminist is for that matter. I can be complex, multi-layered and conflicted. As we all are.

Down the 23




shardZZzzz blowwwww


los antraXXX me dicen

muere piruja

pinche ZorrrrrrA

dark streets walking

Richmond, California

where my ghost walks

panocha destruida

X ti

the girls they walk

down la bente tres

arboles sin raices


down the 23

My Retarded Intimacy

You know what I love about sex work? Well. A lot of things. But if you will allow me to get philosophical for a moment… I always felt like it was the purest of interactions. A transaction. I guess one would characterize it… Mmokay. But I’ll be upfront for a moment when I say I’m intimately retarded. I don’t want to reinforce another stereotype here… This shit could be said of children of incest, childhood violence and abuse, general attachment wounds etc. but I run screaming into the night from feelings. Yours and mine. Don’t want ’em, don’t need ’em, never really served me.

So for me-just me- I felt like sex work was intimacy with the training wheels on. The transaction always gave me that safe out in case I got a yucky vibe or the guy was ugly or sucked at eating my pussy or whatever. Nothing need go any further. But I held the power. If he did eat my pussy right. And there was chemistry. And I was just in that kinda mood.

I don’t know what “normal” intimacy would be. Well. Probably all that feely crap that scares the shit out if me. Gah. Merp.

Sex ‘n’ Dating

So my tarot reader told me that I might have a  man coming into my life. Oh jeez. It’s so much easier when I can just live life as the A-sexual organism I am right now. Doesn’t she know I’m a Sagittarius???? I don’t DO balance! So… this celibacy started three months ago, after the last time I tricked for some drugs. An extreme if there ever was one. So naturally, I swung to the other end of the pendulum and just stopped having sex altogether. That should fix everything….riiiiiiiiighttttt? hmm. So, I mean… if I didn’t end up with like…. a guy that didn’t make my skin crawl… how would I have sex again? With feelings? Hmm. Yes. Haven’t done that in awhile. Sadly. I imagine it will kind of be like having sex for the first time sober after a long time of drinking. I know this isn’t every sex worker’s story, but for me it’s very easy to just shut down and sort of be a shell while mentally I’m somewhere else. It’s more easy in fact than mentally being in a moment with someone. There’s a lot of pressure from the Sex Worker community to NOT reinforce stereotypes, but the reality -scientific reality- childhood trauma puts an individual at greater risk of being re-victimized later in life so it’s no coincidence a significant number – NOT ALL, but some- of Sex Workers have experienced childhood violence.

I think what sex work gave me though that I really carry with me into the dating world is the almost instantaneous ability to read someone and size them up: are they dangerous, a closet weirdo, a nerd, loser, douchebag, cheater, etc. not to mention what they probably like in bed. It’s a survival skill. And if I didn’t already have some of it, I surely do now.

Fucking Bitch

Today I was a fucking bitch. My dog crapped on the sidewalk and I – gasps of horror- didn’t pick it up (because I had no bag.) I know what you’re thinking, this bitch cunt slut whorebag sure has it coming. How dare she! Some prick face proceeded to follow me and harass me… “You better pick that shit up. You inconsiderate bitch. Jesus what a fucking bitch!”

what have I done to deserve your wrath, oh lord of the dog turds? And furthermore, why is this like my third time in the past month getting flipped off and/or called a fucking bitch by a rando male? Of course onlookers do nothing. Why would they? “June look away. That there’s a private matter. She probably really is a fucking bitch anyways. Keep walking.”

why are we so fucking chicken shit as a society? Why DONT we interfere? Of course there’s the standard danger rationale. But I think a big part is people are afraid to form quick and concrete opinions- such as one has to in dangerous situations. Academia teaches us to think through so many different alternatives that we have become a society where we are afraid to look “wrong” to outsiders. So instead, a large portion of us just stay neutral. Both sides, no side- Switzerland. But having no concrete opinion or stance doesn’t help when clear cut wrongs against marginalized portions of humanity are taking place. We can’t be afraid to piss some people off, get into debates, arguments, or even offend people.

I think people don’t usually help when they see someone being harassed in public because; A. It’s an inconvenience and ; B. It takes the guts to stand up in front of people and publicly disagree with something, which could incur backlash. But I feel men have a special obligation to stand up when there is a woman being harassed or hurt in public because they have male privelage so I think they should be held to a higher task. And maybe a guy might actually jump in to help the next time some cock monkey calls me a fucking bitch in public.

Just Drive

driving fast. The tire treads whisk water from the ground  like an old woman sweeping her kitchen. My mind… It wanders…

I walk into his hotel room. I don’t know him, but he sounded ok when I screened him on the phone. He pushes me onto the bed and pulls my dress up

rain pouring, tires swimming

i feel loved. He touches my body all over, kisses me everywhere. Connection, humming together. Bodies melding. He even held me. Talked to me. Asked me every kinda question about me. Who I am.

metallic tinkling of rain… wheels skidding on pools of rainbow colored water… And faster I go… to the unknowing void

kiss my lips. And I die inside.

the rain wet my head. And I waited for the door to open…

Trafficking V. Sex Work

Like many marginalized communities, there is divisiveness within the Sex Worker community. “Don’t say negative things about sex work!” “Don’t reinforce stereotypes!” And one of the biggest no-no’s for us… “DO NOT under any circumstances reinforce the views of the anti-traffickers!” But this kind of zeal isn’t helping us and here’s why: no ones life experiences live on the extreme end of the pendulum. Or at least very few people. And the Sex Workers’ rights movement in their totally justified desire to be heard and understood, is positing itself as the antithesis of the anti-prostitution-anti-trafficking movement. But this is just silencing many sex workers experiences who may not fit into the movement as fully empowered.

integrating the experiences and voices of those who have been forced into Sex Work or may have felt force at some point is just as important as getting the voices out there of workers who made the choice (mostly) themselves. Because c’mon fellow Sex Working brothers and sisters, let’s get real, no one chooses to go into sex work without having some kind of constraint on that choice. Typically a financial one.

But why is it we are so divisive as a community? Why don’t we want to hear and accept the stories of violence, rape and force that do occur in sex work? Defensiveness of our movement plays a part. One thing I have also noticed is apathy in our community to violence committed against us and a disinterest in making grassroots changes to better things. I have seen many key members of nonprofits just kind of shrug their shoulders in bitterness like oh well, if I had to endure violence you can too. There is a lack of community in a big way, and a lack of willingness to trust each other and help each other. Which makes change very hard. Surely I understand this. In many areas of sex work, you can’t trust- people lie and cheat you. But I think if we could find a way to build more ways for Sex Workers to come together and build community- especially in smaller cities. There are so few Sex Worker driven organizations. So let’s start really examining how we are relating to others in the movement. Victims of trafficking have a lot to lend to our cause of workers’ rights. And in the end that’s what it’s all about.