The man was sweet,
really, he was.
He was gentle and didn't speak,
just typed and let the words
pop up on the screen across a blue background
(like sky writing, like deciphering pictures
in the clouds) .
He smiled a lot.
He said we'd just talk
(and maybe strip a little)
and I'd get 40 dollars and maybe 60 dollars
if there was a next time,
but now I am naked and doing things
I have never done with a stranger
(All silently. All locked mouths.
A language of breath) .
There is a moment where I am propped up
on my knees, my body long and soft
and nonhuman,
and I think "I don't want to be here.
I don't want to do this, "
but maybe I am beautiful.
Maybe (here)
I am beautiful,
but nowhere,
nowhere
else.
There is something about
pretending to feel pleasure:
it makes you numb.
I am a computer (All digital,
derealized) just following commands.
He finishes and says goodbye,
says he had so much fun.
That night, I dream
that he left me a bad review on the website
where he found me. When I wake,
I check online and see that he left me five stars
and the word "Amazing"
in all caps.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem