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Pieces of writing, performance and art from our sex worker artists and friends.
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With Molotovs in my fingers I text you it’s over You will no longer fuck me in the dim lights of your room Somewhere between the dirty di...
I remember the first time he took me home, into the house that was theirs. Who was I? A relative or colleague? Not dressed like I was, a w...
I felt heavy breathing on my neck It felt like a strong blow of a hammer but with the weight of a feather that covered the left side of m...