Bisa Welch

I remember as a child I would ritualistically watch Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer. It was the whole premise of it. Even in elementary school, I could tell I was no different than him. The only thing he had that I didn’t, besides a shiny nose, was the fact he had his own island. It was an island of misfits — an island of people who were different from everyone else and had nowhere else to belong. If I knew how my life would pan out, I would have saved anything I could for a one-way ticket there.

This collection of stories is from sex workers, a group society too often deems does not fit. These women typically aren’t given names — society looks at them as if they are not really people at all. These women learned how to be seen and not heard, to please and not make waves. They are like chameleons, able to blend into any environment.

I was fortunate enough to meet these women on the west side of Las Vegas, my neighborhood, my community. My own story is here amongst theirs, as a survivor of sex trafficking. I sought these courageous women because I know what it is like to have people look at you and decide they know you and your story. This is what happens when you don’t have a voice. But now, with these stories, the battle of the larynx is over.

In their world, they’re lucky if they can get a customer who doesn’t degrade them — a customer who listens and respects them for more than their body, not a man who thinks because he bought a $50 mic on Amazon to start a podcast he’s worth more than they are. These women are people, and they should not be treated as anything else. She might sleep with someone for monetary gain while you sleep with someone for emotional gain. Just because one is more accepted does not mean they are not one in the same.

Irish playwright and poet Oscar Wilde famously said, “Every saint has a past, every sinner has a future.” It is easy to see these people and believe you know their story. Maybe you are just one situation away from a downfall of grace. We all have crossroads in life where we make turns that do not always take us down the path we imagined. There are forces in life hat only rattle and call to you.
There is no known number of adult workers in this city — and defining sex work is more complicated than you think. A dancer, an escort, an adult actress, a massage therapist, a cam worker — all of these occupations can dabble in this work. There’s more to the world’s oldest profession in Vegas than Naked City.

This collection is what I call a verbal ink blot test. No two people will have the same experience here, nor will they come to the same conclusions and sentiments. When you hear their words, think about what you see. Think about what you hear. Think about what you feel. Think. Step outside of your comfort zone and step into the adult playground we live in. Lose the illusion that tourists have when they visit us. Las Vegas is more than the Strip. It is more than Fremont Street. Las Vegas is a jungle. It’s littered. It’s bright. It’s glitzy. It’s rough.

I’m presenting these interviews with these women as what we might call journalistic poetry. The inspiration for this collection comes from the Japanese art of Kintsugi. The art form consists of repairing broken pottery by mending the pieces with gold or silver lacquer instead of throwing it away. This technique not only restores the object’s functionality, but it enhances its beauty, creating a unique work of art. As Black women, we too have experienced various forms of fragmentation and division. These divisions have left us with a legacy of conflict, inequality, underdevelopment, hyper sexualization, and an abundance of other forms of generational trauma.

Similarly to Kintsugi, we can embrace our imperfections and use them as a source of strength and beauty. Kintsugi teaches us that brokenness is not something to be ashamed of but rather an opportunity to create something new and unique. The lacquer used symbolizes the value and worth of the piece. In the hood, we didn’t have Kintsugi, but we had crayons and even when broken, they still color. The pain we do not transform, we transmit.

Welcome to Cirque du Vice!
Circus of the vice if you will.
I am your ringmaster.
If you ever lose me in my tale,
Just look for the spotlight,
I’ll be under it.
Granted the spotlight is the West Side Oasis sign when its neon lights are on, but I digress.
Dante’s journey in hell has nothing on me.
Being a Black woman?
Being a Black woman who lives on the west side?
Being a Black woman who lives on the west side of Las Vegas, Nevada?
His trip is like this one weekly trick;
Sad and poetic but lowkey real.

Pride is a bitch.
I’ve been here for 116 seasons on this earth and each one surprises me more and more.
I say that because I thought I would had checked out a while ago.
Don’t tell me I’m too pretty to be out here, because that’ll only make the price go up.
Why am I out here?
Daddy issues.
Mommy issues.
Neither of them wanted me.
If only they can see how many people want me now.
In the hood I’m like Princess Diana!
Ain’t no such thing as Greed in this.
I’m a small business owner and you can’t tell me how much to price my product.
If one won’t pay,
Two more waiting around the corner payment ready.
Superbowl coming too?
I’m about to get that bag!

There’s a Wrath inside me when these niggas play with me.
I’m a renegade but I got big bro ready to slide the moment I don’t text him and tell him you paid me.
Was my service unsatisfactory?
Please,
Enlighten me.
What review are you about to give me that would make you skip out on your bill?
I’m so sweet.
Why would you want me to turn sour?

I Envy no bitch.
Let’s get that straight.
But how these tricks not gonna get with me?
To get with a girl out here crashing out?
A girl who gets exposed damn near daily?
Just cause her ass fatter?
Well excuse me,
I invest my money in other things other than basement injections.
Lust in this life can be so pure.
Did I lose you?
Well here I am,
Spotlight on me.
I am the star of their perverted show.
They come for me.
They come to me.
They adore me.
They love me,
Even if it’s for the hour.
I’m all they want.
I’m all they need.
Me. Me. Me.
Yes. Yes. Yes!

Gluttony sounds so serious.
I’m greedy yeah.
I don’t mind letting you and your friend come thru as long as the money green.
The more the merrier.
It’s hard out here so I’m doing what I gotta do.
You can’t judge me if I’m in the world’s oldest profession.
Sometime its not even about the money.
I love feeling like prey amongst lions.
It’s never too much.
The primal nature.
The grunts.
The sweat.
They gripping just almost slightly a little too tight but it still excites you.
The parties.
The turn up never stops.
More. More. More.
I live like a tourist out here.
The party never stops in the devil’s playground.

Sloth sounds nasty.
I don’t get lazy.
I block it all out when it hurts.
I block it all out when suddenly no is a foreign word.
I remember on a school trip once we went to the planetarium.
There was this laser show.
They were the constellations.
I loved the stars and the moon.
I just knew I was going to space one day.
Chances are I won’t make enough seasons to make the next Haley’s comet.
I loved science.
I dreamt of getting picked up by Ms. Frizzle on her bus with Arnold and ‘nem.
We’d go to Neptune and watch the diamond rain showers.
That’s what I see during those times.