Who Is In Prostitution? Poem by Boniface Mundu

Not sure if I exactly understand this one. First you concede that the willing are prostitutes. Or in prostitution to use your words. Next it's as if you begin to make a statement about peostitutes who are forced into their occupation. Except the statement evolves into a question. The word compulsion confuses the matter further. To me compulsion implies an amount of willingness. Perhaps coercion instead? Finally it concludes asking who are you? Is it addressing the reader? Or written for an unseen party? Not to say I don't like it. Hell it intrigued me enough to write all this. But it lacks a bit of clarity