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Thread: Sex worker poetry/short stories

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    Veteran Member lady_lazarus's Avatar
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    Default Sex worker poetry/short stories

    So I definitely don't have a background in English or lit but I do enjoy writing to relieve stress which of course includes work related stress. I don't usually share my poetry but I feel like you all might be able to relate and I was inspired by the stripper and webcam haiku threads. Post yours too if you have any







    Stand by, you're up in one
    i make my way through the men slick with beer and sweat
    and take my seat by the stage


    our eyes meet
    brown mirrors
    sister eyes
    I don't smile


    her laugh shows the valleys of her dimples
    she grabs my hand, both of us less lonely


    i get her a water because she is drunk
    a breast hangs out, lopsided, from a green mesh bra
    a sequin hangs by a thread


    i step onto the stage, clicking shoes and sharp lights


    she leaves with three of the slick men
    $500


    If i see her again I will tell her she could've gotten more

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    Default Re: Sex worker poetry/short stories

    I am really weird about sharing my writing, but I might post something later this week. I am actually writing a "hardboiled" story right now (like the genre the Sin City film is in, for example), and one of the main characters is a stripper. That would be a little long to post on here though...

    Anyway, I just wanted to add that the concept of a haiku has changed a lot over the years, and while sticking to the syllable/line thing is totally accepted/cool/whatever, another idea of the modern haiku is that it is a brief and cutting image (or a series of them, since haiku can be singular or plural). It really made the form more interesting, for me at least. This is what really got me into further exploring it: http://www.scribd.com/doc/32724660/Jack-Kerouac-Haiku I think your lines about the drunk girl, in particular the sequin ending, really work with the stark power the modern haiku can have.

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    Default Re: Sex worker poetry/short stories

    I write poetry as well, not comfy posting it (would hate for it to be quoted, plagiarised etc and it's personal), but I enjoy it and it's a great medium for expression and good stress relief. Getting things on paper helps me to accept/process them. I've written about dancing before, the good and the bad, directly and indirectly. I LOVE Sharon Olds, she's one of my idols ! Very gritty, honest and organic.
    “Give a girl the right shoes and she can conquer the world” -Marilyn Monroe

    "True sexiness has many facets-confidence, strength, intelligence, and humor. It isn’t just about trying to look sexy; it’s an art and one becomes skillful in it when she realizes that there are all these conflicting elements that all come together to make something magical"-Dita Von Teese

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    Default Re: Sex worker poetry/short stories

    I wrote this a while back when I was feeling really depressed again. It's not so much about stripping as being depressed and how overwhelming that can be when you have to go into work. It's a stream of consciousness sort of thing, I suppose. I'll delete later.

    ***

    It started when I was six. Or maybe before; I don't know. But my father died when I was six, so maybe it was then. If it was before then, it was because my father, he was a bastard. Not the Jon Snow know-nothing illegitimate bastard--just a cold hard bastard of a man. He came home drunk and angry a lot, and then he did what drunk and angry lawyer fathers do. I don't remember any of it that well, and my brother hid me in his closet during the worst, but I'm sure it messed with the development of some lobe or another. So yes, maybe it did begin before I was six.

    But when I was six, my father died. Cancer, a cold hard bastard of a death. And my mother, she didn't know what to do. She's dependent, my mother. So she leaned on my brother, and she leaned on my sister, and she leaned on me. Then she found someone new to depend on, and a few years later she found a new new someone, and so on, falling down each time she was on her own. I'm sometimes afraid I'm a little like her in that regard, so I just try to never lean at all.

    But now I'm here, and I am afraid of what essentially amounts to everything. Mostly, I am afraid of my own mind, because somewhere along the way, it went a little wrong. It plays tricks on me, my mind, and it does not always want me to get through the day. Usually, if I can just have some alone time, everything gets better. But I don't like for anyone to see, and where I have to spend too much of my time, people demand, at the very least, to always see.

    Till 2AM on many nights, I tug bright mesh tops down, first past my breasts and then over my hips, slowly till they drop to my ankles and are brushed aside by a scuffed stiletto. By the middle of my second song, I have to no matter what, but a few dollars can speed the process up. It doesn't fuck you up like the shows say. It's just that the bathroom stalls don't always have doors on them. And when five people in a row just tried to shove my nipples into their stubbly gapes, I don't want to explain the long face to my coworker, whose real name I likely don't know, while I pee.

    It's not the being asked to explain it that's the problem. It's the being asked to explain it but not actually being asked to, you see. "I am chronically depressed; how are you?" doesn't quite meet many people's social standards, especially when you are being begrudgingly paid to display perkiness through all conceivable avenues.

    And even if I did say that, perhaps someone would play along and ask why I am depressed. And frankly, I do not know why, and I am not sure anyone would want to see such a confused girl naked, at least for $20 a song. I saw a psychologist once, and he said it was because my father died. But, you know, my father was a bastard, so I don't think that's why. I saw a psychiatrist sometime after that and she said it was because my father was a bastard, much less so because he died. She thinks his father was probably a bastard too, so I guess she was implying that I am a bastard as well, and the politically correct thing is just to say we're all depressed. She didn't know that I'm a stripper though, and I imagine she would have had An Opinion on that. I do not think my father was a stripper, or his father before him. They both said they were lawyers. My sister, I am sure, is a lawyer. She is also anorexic.

    I am depressed because I am depressed, and it's not so much like sadness as just being very tired--too tired for sadness even, sometimes. Today, I cried a lot, and that's a sign of depression according to psychiatrists and psychologists and probably lawyers, but I think it's a sign of my cat breaking her damn leg. To be fair, another cat broke it, but all the same. It was $3500 or leave her in a kennel for months to maybe heal. Or, you know, the Other Option. But my cat is not a bastard, and she didn't even break her own leg, and she doesn't demand that I smile when I take my top off. She scratches my ugly couch a lot and watches human interactions like she's taking notes for Dostoevsky. She's very quiet and likes corners and to not be seen. She was found in a pile of her dead litter mates and stray mother, mauled by neighborhood dogs, but she's worth a lot more than $3500, and I think I might be a little depressed because too many people wouldn't say so, and then they'd probably try to bite my nipples.

    If she were human, my cat would have been an engineer. She likes watching people work on things. She follows the tools and the screws. She wouldn't have been a lawyer or a bastard or a stripper even, though she would have been a better stripper than me. I am told I look Too Serious, but man are those nipples pink. I would have been an equally bad engineer though (you are not very good at math, but man are those nipples pink), so for now, I will just continue to grind my way up to $3500 by twenty-dollar increments, plus the stage dollars here and there. Most bastards don't even bother to tip.

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    Default Re: Sex worker poetry/short stories

    Thanks for sharing! I love your style and your descriptions. Can't wait to see more from you!

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