A man I am meant to love told me the amount of skin I show represents my right to consent.
Flesh = Yes
Clothes = No
"Deserving" is a word he used.
A grandfather told his grandchild she deserved to be abused based off the length of her skirt, but this is old news; same story.
Only, I've heard it one time too many and now I'm sick of it.
"Devastated" over my hypothetical ****, he'd said,
as though his feelings mattered more than my right to my body.
Well, **** him.
I'm tired of prioritising people whose opinions are so archaic they can't see the crime in their words.
And his words hurt.
He defended the 'nature of men', claiming its an inbreed instinct,
tried to explain the appeal of women as though I don't already know.  
Jokes on him.
I'm gay.
But I've never been under the illusion it's okay to objectify or intimidate your way into a person's life.
I've never felt entitled to a person I've liked
And there lies the generational divide
Because neither has my brother.
Being "unable to control certain urges" is just another lie they feed you to perpetuate a culture of ****.
I'm seventeen, and yet I know the fear a predatory gaze can cause,
I've been leered at to the extent I honestly thought this is it.
This is the moment I've been warned about.
And then I thought "It's my own fault.
It's dark, it's after nine, I went out running in only a sports bra,
of cause I'm going to find trouble"
because I forgot that I'm not an object.
I'd been fed the same message so frequently it was ingrained into my fight or flight response.
Doesn't that speak for itself?
I'd been conditioned to accept the blame before the finger was even pointed.
So when my grandfather looked me in eye and said he thought girls where asking for it by the way they dressed,
I didn't have the energy to suppress my response.
I asked him if I'd been out drinking with friends wearing a sheer dress and matching bralette, and I was *****, would he consider it my fault.
His answer was met with stunned laughter.
Yes, he'd consider me to blame, and indicated his disappointment should weigh on my conscious.
I am shamed I have the same genetics as such a man.
At least I've learned to drown out his words so they can no longer effect me.

Did you know that if you leave your car in your driveway,
With the keys in the ignition,
And someone sits down in the front seat like they own it, and drives away,
You are the one who is liable for theft?
They can drive that sucker to the coast.
They can burn the upholstery with their cigarettes. They can bring their friends into the back seat, and fill the compartments with their refuse, and ****, and they can leave it ruined in front of your house, or crushed into the median on the highway, or left in disconnected pieces under an overpass.
It will be called, “unauthorized use of a vehicle.”
It will be called a “misdemeanor.”
But you left the car running.
Weren't you kind of asking for it to happen?

They said,
This,
(Gesturing to the skirt which fell to two inches
above my kneecap),
Is like that.

If I walk outside of my house in jeans and a t-shirt, or a long dress with thin straps,
Or with my chin tilted out,
Or with long eyelashes,
Or with full lips,
Or with my hips swaying when I walk,

It's like I left the car running.

It's like I invited them to force their bodies into the front seat.
In their minds, or with their hands, or with their lips to anyone who would listen to them.

Little girls in leotards become like unlocked car doors;
Where men can burn their cigarettes into their skin,
Or stick their fingers in
In plain view of their parents,
And told to let it happen,
Quietly.
It isn't theft,
It's “a medical examination.”

What did they expect?
It isn't a theft.
She was just as guilty of negligence.
It isn't really a felony.
It's not THAT BAD. (Stop being so dramatic.)
It's the unauthorized use of your body, for a time, or one night,
or every time you close your eyes for the rest of your life,

Sure-

But you left the car running.

My body, should be my temple
But why does it belong to someone else?
It belongs to the man who stared too long
It belongs to the man hitting on me in front of his wife
It belongs to the man who put his hand on my ***, even though he couldn’t be bothered with knowing my name
It belongs to the man who kept asking after I just said no
My body isn’t my body
It belongs to men I barely know

If you take me
if you're so destined to tear into my flesh
to consume what innocence I have left--
take me with an iron fist
take everything I have
everything you want and more
with blunt force
leave me shredded,
shattered
leave me bruised
with permanent scars
beat me until I'm ******
until I'm black and blue
until my bones are crippled
and my skin is sore to the touch
And everyone can see  your marks
all over my body
until you have ripped my insides out like a trophy
until you have destroyed every bit of beauty my body once held--
do this all,
I beg you
so I can show the world what kind of monster you are
take me--  take all of me,
I'm asking for it
I'm asking you, to prove yourself, guilty.

debating whether i am allowed
to go out of the house at 8pm
or not
“because i might get *****”

debating whether i am allowed
to wear that skirt that goes little above my knees
or not
“because i might get *****”

debating whether i am allowed
to meet up with a guy
or not
“because i might get *****”

debating whether i am allowed
to stay at my friends house when they have older brothers
or not
“because i might get *****”

debating whether i am allowed
to go on a school trip
or not
“because i might get *****”

Do you see this?
Do you see the reason they give for a woman to not do certain things?
****.

How can we live in this world
peacefully
when we have to fear for our lives
almost every moment

when your hands roam
my  body unwillingly
the first thing the police ask is
“so what were you wearing?”

as if that explains why
someone grabbed me
and dug their fingers into my skin.

as if a woman doesn’t have a right
to wear crop tops and tight jeans
that hug our bodies

my body is no one's prize
but a home where I should
be able to feel comfortable in,

not a home
I grow to hate
yet it seems as if the
world wants me to.

only when it happens do
people say it isn’t okay.
yet there was nothing done
about it.

everyone looks at you
in pity, as you try not to cry,
he said you gave consent,
that's a lie.

as women, we have a voice,
but our society teaches us not to use it.

no one is to blame but ourselves
we are taught to keep quiet, to look
and act as if nothing is wrong.
when there is a whole war going
on inside of us.

do you want to make me feel better?
don’t ask me what I was wearing.
take the man who scarred me,
give me and all the other girls
he assaulted, tainted. justice.

we sure do deserve it.

summertime has never been my favorite.
the sun is too bright.
the days are too long.
public pools are *****.
and so are those men,
you know the ones.
the ones who you can't help but catch their eye.
the ones your fifteen year old mind had been conditioned to ignore.
the ones your twenty year old self has been told to smile for.
the strangers.
the fathers.
the uncles.
the family friends.
the men that made your mother tell you to close your legs for when you were ten because you were drawing attention.
the ones who shouldn't have been looking.

She steps into the room,
Timidity and grace;
Innocence and caution synchronized.
She feels you watching her
And quickly turns away-
But it's too late,
She's been defiled by your eyes.

She's just another pretty girl
On whom to feast your eyes-
Another helpless victim to your gaze.
It doesn't matter what she wears,
It doesn't matter what she hides-
The second you set eyes on her,
She becomes your latest prey.

A slave to your senses,
You mother ******* perv!
I hate you and all your twisted ways.
A ******* of duplicity-
A ravenous, worthless curr-
Twisted in your soul
And ****** up in your brain!

'Cause you've got X-ray vision,
And you **** her with your mind;
Defile her with your very gaze.
You strip her down and play with her,
Debauched within your mind;
Violated, objectified, debased.