A Collection About the Underground World of Human Trafficking: Things I Sell, Trying To Get Out, Traffic

The history of human trafficking has been a part of our history for hundreds of years. It was happening before slavery and has sense become a huge part of our crimes committed against people in this country. In this collection we will dive into the experience of two very different women: one woman is living and remembering how it was that she came to be held captive and sold, the other woman is one of the captors. They are both telling very different stories but what we see in both of them is their ability to hold on to the things and the people that they used to be before this world overtook them. Both, to a certain extent are looking for a way out and neither one of them can find it. The final poem “Traffic” is a fast paced poem that drives us through the life of trafficking. Through these three stories we gain knowledge of both sides and as much as we feel heart broken for one and hate for the other the most important thing is to make sure we continue to feel.

Underground World of Human Trafficking

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Things I Sell I didn’t create this business I just got hired into it. Just like working at a desk Good workers move up. I worked good I moved up. Going from the girl in the shadows To the woman in charge. I won’t say I love my job it’s just what I know How to do because it’s all that I’ve done. I watched my mother work the streets. She would stand on the corner under our Apartment window at 165th and Broadway “Nikki when mommy brings a man upstairs you go into the closet and put your headphones on. Watch whatever you want to watch and turn it up As loud as you can.” I sat in the window and watched her with her Blonde curls Black purse Shiny silver knife, just in case she would tell me. Blonde, black, silver- Standing on the corner under the streetlight. Cars passing by A truck Another truck Then a car pulls over, white guy gets out Mommy gives him money and away he went. Another car approaching, slowing down, Mommy bends over into the window, He’s getting out, she looks up to me. I run into the closet, headphones on, Volume turned all the way up. She worked. That was 1995.

Underground World of Human Trafficking

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