What does privilege look like?

Privilege looks like me-

He told me so.

Privilege is born with pink balloons and purple ribbons.

Privilege rolls down long, batting eyelashes

Privilege is pear shaped,

A body condemned by puberty to a life sentence of curves

Followed by unwanted attention. Like, literally, followed.

 

In 8th grade a car of men yelled at my best friend and I

through rolled down windows, with rolled down jaws

Rolling down our clothes with unapologetic eyes,

peering at our privilege.

SEXY! ASS! WHORE! velcrowed themselves to my skin

As they drove away.

My friend was laughing.

“Why would they say that?” I asked

She said, “because we look sexy.”

We didn’t look sexy.

We looked  young.

But I guess female privilege means

Two 13 year olds walking down the street

In a school uniform were asking for it.

Lucky little girls,

Collecting catcalls like carnations

Weaving wreaths of worth from their words

Crowning ourselves with their thorns

The only salvation that damns

 

In 10th grade I felt ashamed

When 2 boys followed me

talking about my butt.

My female privilege taught me that 3 feet

Is far enough away to pretend not to hear.

I justified my silence

anger is not ladylike

self-respect is not effeminate

embarrassment is not acceptable

the boys make the rules.

Lucky me, I just get to follow them.

 

Who knows what a future of female privilege holds for me,

Apart from a wage-gap and a self-defense class.

 

My pockets overflow with overused sorries

Delivered to disguise my devils of disdain

Wouldn’t want them to feel bad.

I know they Should feel bad.

Thanks yous are a guilty reflex

I gag on my own insecurities more than their misogyny

And I always drag a heavy backpack

Filled with angry words I have wanted to use,

But couldn’t without permission

Under the tread of my feet I suppress the memories

Of all the times words didn’t change their minds.

 

Female privilege has offered me gifts

I have not asked for.

As a girl in this world people will try to wrap you up,

And think that if they can call you a present,

Put you on a shelf and say, “You’re beautiful”

Tell you that you mean something in this world

Because you mean something to him-

That there is no need for feminism,

Because there is no such thing as sexism.

 

And hey, Boys will be boys, and girls

will be dolls.

Boys will be boys,

And dolls will be punished for dirty socks.

Boys will be boys,

And girls will get punished for tempting them.

Dirty socks and dirty sluts.

Boys break their toys or grow tired of them,

And the used and broken girls sit on dusty shelves.

To the dolls who have learned to entertain they will say,

“Lucky girl! You have a boy who wants to play with you! A man to belong to.”

And why wouldn’t a girl want to be a doll?

At least, this is what the boys say. And boys understand dolls, oh so well.