#MeToo — an elegy for a female life engulfed by sexual assault and control

When I read about that Weinstein guy this past week, I literally scoffed at the responses. I mean, every think piece pretending to be surprised; male actors, producers, directors running for the hills; former presidents and presidential candidates all like, “What? Nooooo.” Woman after woman after woman saying what happened to them. Him denying anything nonconsensual.

Bruh. My eye muscles gotta be the strongest in my body because they stay getting exercised. Eye-roll after eyeball straining eye-roll. Cuz y’all know what time it is. America is built on sex as a violent tool of subjugation, harassment as a consistent form of terror to maintain power. I mean, c’mon son. Y’all perfected that art form during slavery and colonization. No one was safe—men, women, children. And still. We. Are. Not. Safe.

And so I write this little elegy for us all:

To the girl who giggles instead of frowns

For fear of retribution’s sting

Bitch and Ho and Slut all live

Grenades landing at her scattered dome

For the woman who constantly holds

Her soft body like a man’s

Or arms folded across chests

Breasts protected but she’s still not

To women raped and pillaged

Villages to unwanted advance

In meetings and day-lit parks

Or crowded subways and dark streets

For little girls who don’t understand

Why whistling makes them cringe

But knows to take the long

Way home to avoid the porch catcalls

To the women who travel in packs

Elephants avoiding surreptitious attack

By the terror who roams the club

Stalking bathroom doors and drinks

For girls whose bodies flower

And they feel shame they can’t control

Flower right along side their frames

Choking out would be freedom and joy

At mother nature’s new gifts

Of youth and love and light

For women who find themselves

Caught between work and what is right

Goals in sight but overshadowed

By bikinis and unclean hands

For girls who endure gropes

Personal boundaries broken at school

Church made for all but her

No matter the length or the looseness of skirts

For women whose burkas and hijabs

Are infiltrated by infidels

Who call on Allah in one breath

Yet profane His holiness in the next

For girls who wash and wash

Scrubbing off layers of skin

Never reaching that one tainted spot

Left by the folly of men

To women forced into a yes

Coerced by the violence found in no

Lives snuffed out by the user’s contempt

When find more than they bargained for

Me, too.



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