Am I mistaken?
You put my body above my face.again.
My anatomy does not keep me from my autonomy.
Objectifying your own daughter and constantly telling her she better run.
Meanwhile expecting nothing from the son. Teaching nothing to the son. Boys,darling. Boys will be boys.
"Have a nice day at work,honey today you might get shoved into that van."
I find myself flinching when joggers come to close.
There was never that plausibility of consent.
Don't let anyone touch you. Never ever let anyone touch you.
Your virtue will have dissapaited into the ether.
I will be ugly.
I was 15 when I let a boy touch my breast.
I cried for 3 days.
When allowances had shifted I had found myself more vulnerable.
But I always was more vulnerable.
Ready to decay at a young age through a impotent sense of resistance.
Be vulgar. Spit. Clench your fists. Smoke your cigarettes. Wear big boots. Dont look soft because they might think you feel it too. I thought i would catch fire i thought i would die
Especially when it seems so real.
This culture of predatory vultures looking to the elipses that make a chest. Nothing about my life has ever told me that I was allowed to feel safe. That it was okay, to permit a lover to trace my sillhoute with fingers crowned by tiny nails chewed up from a similar confused and scathing perception of the universe. In this house I was never told that I would find someone who I might feel love towards,or that anyone could entertain the thought. It seems as if you would rather I be taken
And kidnapped
Then ever give myself away.
Just so you would know i always have to stay.