Why My Speed Dial Screams Emergency.

i.
I’m slowly piecing together why
I take self defense classes and look for mace spray online
Why I walk faster than my legs can keep up
And talk to myself under my breath

‘Aim for the eye- Reach for the face- Kick at the balls- Run to the light’
I repeat.

I’m slowly putting together what went wrong
How speed dial became code for emergency
And not people you miss
Often

How sleeping alone seems like an impossibility

ii.
I was eleven when my breasts tasted their first groping hands
And it was a crowded bus, and the man was right beside me
Pretending to sleep
And on my other side my mom counted changes to give to the conductor
And caught in the middle of the war
Between keeping quiet
And being shamed

I let his fingernails dig deeper in my flesh

iii.
I was sixteen when I said no
My body wasn’t a urinal, he could stick his organs in, and scratch his ownership on the walls of my skin

And I saw his voice turn from BABY PLEASE to FUCK YOUR PLAY HARD TO GET BULLSHIT

And his parents told me I was the reason he took sleeping pills and girls like me spoil nice guys like him and my parents told me I had disgraced them and they didn’t answer me when I asked

Whether letting him have me
Would’ve made them feel better

iv.
I was 19 and we were three friends
walking down the road
When the bus full of college guys passed us by

And between their rushing
NICE TITS
and SUCK ME OFF SLUT
and waggling fingers and tongues from every window of the bus

I couldn’t ask them
What me or my friends had done to deserve this, whether anyone could do anything
To deserve this
‘Let it go’, my friends said. And I could see
How terrifying letting go
Could be

v.
I’m slowly working out the equation why
Girls like me
put a frown on everyone’s faces
Whether they do what they want, or
can’t win against someone else doing
what they wish
Why I’ll always be a cocktease- slut-not worthy enough for someone’s dick
Why there’ll be memes about my breasts and ass
But not a mention of my individuality

I’m slowly figuring out why
A man in a room full of women, becomes advertisement
A woman in a room full of men, nightmares.

(This post was deleted twice by Facebook in the last 8 hours, citing ‘graphical nudity and depiction of sexual acts’.
Which is kinda hard because there are no associated images, or 50 Shades Of Grey spoilers that this piece carries.
This poem talks about sexual objectification and harassment of women in daily life, and if Facebook has a problem with handling the reality every woman has to live through on a daily basis, I wonder what kind of bubble we are made to believe in constantly.)

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s