“Boys will be boys”, they say
As if somehow their biological makeup is an excuse that allows them to comment on my cosmetic kind
As if what hangs between their legs allows them to get in between mine
Because that’s just what boys do
They can’t help themselves
And what happens when those boys become men twenty years my senior?
Must I still accept it, appreciate it?
That a man thinks I’m attractive enough to bark at me as if I’m nothing more than a piece of meat?
It must be those animalistic instincts kicking in again.
“He had mental problems”, they say
As if the man that killed six girls at a university did not act out of blatant misogyny
As if we can deny that being a woman is becoming increasingly dangerous
Because we have to make up excuses as to why we can’t go out with a man
If we say we simply don’t want to, he may respond with ending our lives
What happened to that self-proclaimed “nice guy”?
Must we teach boys to expect rewards for being a decent human being?
And that that decency should only last until their advances are refused?
That’s a learned behavior, not an instinctual one.
“In ten years, you’ll be wishing for that kind of attention,” they say
As if I’d ever want to feel again the way I do now
As if I actually enjoy the pressure of the pepper spray clenched tightly in my fist as my friends and I walk to our car
The prickly feeling on my neck as another guy comments on my bikini at the beach
The shivers sent down my spine as some pervert whistles from his open window
That’s what I’ll be wishing for?
Not for the safety of the next generation of girls after me?
For the comfort of the teenagers who simply want to go out in public without being catcalled?
Because their instinct should not be to accept this harassment.