They don’t know what it’s like,
To be in fear as they walk down the sidewalk,
With their keys in their hands, ready to defend themselves.
They don’t know.

They have no idea what it feels like,
To be watched,
With lustful eyes, going up and down their body,
They have no idea.

How could they know?
That every day they would need to survive,
Through the comments and the grabby hands,
How? Because they aren’t us.

WE know what it’s like,
To fight for our right,
To survive in this judgemental world,
WE know.

They don’t have everyone question them,
About their attitude,
About their virtue,
About their weight,
About their life.

They don’t get those **** cat-calls,
No, they are the ones doing them.
They don’t get their drinks spiked,
No, they are the ones doing it.
They don’t get harassed, every day,
No, they are the ones doing it.

Young, old.
Tall, short.
Small, big.
They don’t care.

We are alone.
We stick together.
We are SURVIVORS.