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.