Dear John – the caged bird sings

 

walking through the quaint streets of Sighisoara, they were setting up to shoot a fantasy scene

 Dear John,

You never saw the chains. Maybe you just assumed that they never existed. Maybe you just didn’t care. There were chains, John. There still are.

You see, no little girl or boy grows up wanting to be someone else’s merchandise. This isn’t about a fantasy, an escape, relaxation, or good old manly sex. It’s about business, John, plain old supply and demand. You were the demand and I was the supply. I was a commodity, John. A thing with a price tag on display for your purchase. Do you think any good business man will let his supply just wander away? Oh, there were chains. 

Chains. Beatings. Rape. Is it hard to wrap your head around that, John? How does a prostituted woman become raped? I was a little girl, once. Do you think a 15 year old wants to have sex with a man twice her age just to get a little cash? 

I fought, John. I fought and I cried and they drugged me and that is how it goes. Over and over and over again. Sometimes 20 times a day. Somebody has to bring home the money, right? It would be so much easier to be a bag of flour. Once you are used, you are done. Not so with a human. Not so with me. I can be used and reused until my body or my soul just gives out and dies. Supply and demand.

You probably think that now that I have been rescued, the chains are gone. But, who can escape the chains? They  are wrapped around my insides and padlocked to my memories. Who has that key? That’s how it goes, you know, who would want me and my used up body? I cannot even imagine my worth past a price tag. That’s crazy right? I have no idea how to view my value beyond what you would pay for me. 

Chains, John. 

Can you see them now? 

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