To the men in Berkeley, I’m not your sweetheart, Not your baby, your honey, your cutie I don’t respond to clicks and hisses I’m not an animal, never been attracted to growls. I’m a person walking to the grocery store because I have to eat. I’m a student walking with my friends to study. I’m human. To the man in Quebec that confused my teenage body with that of a grown woman. Neither then nor now does that infuse me with body-positive confidence. I dare you to find me a woman who feels otherwise. I do not ask for howls by waiting for my dad outside of a restroom. If I did not ask for your opinion on how much you’d like to bang me, why did you think you should tell me? I was not much older than your daughter. To the men around the world who beckon me with the sickest of grins,What therapy do you need?In some ways I find myself wondering if God would cast you into the sea with chains around your neck. To the boys in middle school who threatened far more than I could ever speak, There is not a rhyme or reason for your behavior. And I wonder looking into those young eyes,If through the gruesome lies of this worldYou became predators for other men and women. I find my steps more measured, my words more cautious.my hope for this world, faded.It feels like I could have a tat across my chestProclaiming “sex symbol” and things wouldn’t be different.I know it is not just the fate of women,But my quiet brethren steep in their silence.Because where there is objectification of one’s body,There is guilt, it’s what we’re taught. But to the victims in Los AngelesYou can never dress or act in any way to ask for rape,It is not something to ask for.For the 81% of females,Not all the ears that hear your cries are deaf. To the God above,I ask for change.I ask for a world where I don’t have to have hidden fears about having daughters.I ask that humanity be included in my identity.