We express our anger
At all the things that live under our skin.
There are shouts and comments to friends
Of irritation we can never pin.
Road rage is a common place
For my anger to be seen.
Or when people wear tappers as jewelry
(I’d rip them out but that’s a little mean.)
But these things are small, petty.
They don’t matter on a larger scale.
The ones of importance are harder to ignore
Attempts to rid the world of them fail.
There is little I hate more
Than when people brush off rape.
“That’s just high school.”
And thus the victim’s guilt takes shape.
There is no ‘just’ about
The violation of someone’s being
Your body is your own
A respect we should all be seeing.
There is no ‘just’ about the self hate
It isn’t ever pretty.
The victim has been through enough
To make them feel worse is just plain shitty.
Asking for it, drunk, and boys will be boys
These are the ‘excuses that I hear.
But if it was your sister, daughter, or mother
And you could feel their fear?
So remember they are someone’s.
Someone’s daughter, someone’s sister, someone’s mother one day
And before you open your mouth with pathetic excuses
If they had been your anything, what would you say?