It begins with kindness
offered to a girl
whose life has more cracks
than windows.
A ride.
A place to stay.
Someone who says
You're special,
and waits
until she believes it.
Trust grows fast
in empty places.
He knows that.
He looks for it.
A pill to quiet the shaking.
Another so tomorrow feels possible.
She has to earn the next one.
Soon her body
needs the same hand
that holds the leash.
He tells her the police
will lock her away.
He tells her
no one will believe
a girl like her.
He tells her
her family already knows
what she's become,
reminds her often
that she chose this life.
Lies repeated long enough
sound like truth
inside a tired mind.
Outside,
the world walks past
on ordinary afternoons,
expecting a girl in chains
who never appears.
The real chains are quieter.
Addiction.
Fear.
A voice that repeats
you belong to me
until it echoes
in her own.
When people ask
why she didn't run,
they are imagining a door
she was taught
not to see.
—
Most people don't realize that sex trafficking happens in broad daylight. It's not always chains and cages in a dark basement in some third-world country. It happens right here, right down the street, out in the open. And she won't ask for help when you pass her on the sidewalk, because she doesn't know she can.
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