On the day I traveled to see you,
the bus smelled of cigar smoke and the
stench of perfume.
As I rode past derilict cities
and electrical towers,
I realized the
tenacity of my own
strength.

In the humid evening,
you voiced your thoughts on
modesty and
independance.
And as I listened to
songs of short skirts,
****** harassement, and the
inherent dangers of my actions,
I discovered my
hatred for that
phrase:
“Especially for girls.”