Pretty Boy calls my body “Hourglass”
Funny, I’m not the one wasting my time.

(He got some things right, though. My body is not soft. My body is not fruit. My body is hard. My body takes its time.)

Pretty Boy wants a grain of sand; doesn’t care that he has to break the whole thing to get it.

While he’s at it, Pretty Boy takes more than he originally intended. Takes more than he was offered.

He Takes
and takes
and takes

and doesn’t give a ****.
He broke that too.

Now I’m all washed up in this lake of glass.
Well, it’s a good thing he likes long walks on the beach.
Or ***** as he calls it
“it,” of course, being me.

Pretty Boy knows exactly what not to say
to get me to sleep with him
Pretty Boy is confused
wants to know why I 'do not like' him.

Now I could tell Pretty Boy:

A. that I like girls
B. that I’m seeing someone
C. that I’m just not interested.
D. that I —-

But this is not multiple choice.
This is extended response.

One where I repeat the same thing

over
and over
and over

to all the Pretty Boys.

being a girl
is feeling more comfortable
leaving your purse
or coat
or phone
with someone when you need to use the bathroom
than you feel with leaving
your drink

being a girl
means being cat called
and having to accept it
it means only feeling comfortable
with your boyfriend
or dad
by your side

being a girl
is insecurity
in being anywhere
without protection
because we are prey

right or wrong
it's the truth
and I live it every day

when i say i want to take kickboxing,
join the gym
it's for the meatheads
it's for the men who think their cars are armor
who think their voices are god
it's a properly thrown punch for the girls
who do nothing but exist in the world
in their own bodies
in their clothes
this is the one time my mother excused me
for screaming *******
to the man who said
a girl walking on the other side of the street
was
a **** **** ***** and
honking his horn
i want to learn how to down someone three times my size with a single strike,
to be the silent
protector
of the world

My name is LITTLE LADY and I am ten years old visiting family. Your eyes hungrily take in my young body and your truck slows down and my heart pounds in my chest. You yell horrible things at me and tears sting my eyes and I run all the way home. I dare not stop to see if you’re following, that would give you an unfair advantage.
My name is SWEET THING and I am twelve years old and we are all here to honor him. Do you have no respect for where we are? Evidently not as you grip my shoulder with an alarming force and I hide in the bathroom while the service carries on. My mother will be furious later that I missed my best friend’s funeral but I’m sure JP would understand mum, I’m sure he would understand how frightened I was.
My name is CHEEKY and I am thirteen years old at the beach with my family. You untie my bikini top and throw it out to the lake. I am mortified and they are laughing and you are laughing and I don’t know how to cope. I cover myself with the last bit of dignity I can muster as my father repeats the four words that have been their excuse for ages, “Boys will be boys”
My name is ***** JUST LOOK AT ME and I am fifteen years old, words to you that means “old enough”. I am livid but you have the advantage with your size and I cannot defend myself. I hold my keys tight in my fist and bare my teeth like a wolf. I am afraid but the anger rises higher than fear.
My name is ******* and I am seventeen years old. I am strong and unafraid, but with every call I am suddenly ten years old again and running away from the man in the truck. I am strong; so strong, and I must defend myself because no one else will. I must defend myself because no man will ever have the satisfaction of saying they were the one that broke me. I must defend myself because I should never be afraid to walk alone.