We've all been in that situation. We fear to say no to protect the dignity of the other while completely disregarding our own. To avoid awkward situations and conversations we fear to subject another person to, we allow another step to be taken. Allowing him to take advantage of us because without him, we are nothing. "A single woman in this day and age? Good luck making it big. There was probably something wrong with you anyway."
They use excuses like "Why don't you love me enough?" "Trust me." Or a personal favorite, "You say you love me, so prove it." As if the only form of expressing my affection is allowing you to slide your filthy paws down my body, caressing my curves that I've worked so hard for. They say "You're irresistible." Yet they haven't even tried.
Fearing to glance into the reflective panes of glass in the gym because accidental eye contact while squatting with 185 pounds on my back, sweat glistening down my cheek onto my chest is an open invitation for all. Open season on my body. So society responds with "So don't go to the gym? But don't be fat."
In attempt to avoid the stares, the men trying to visually undress me, I stay at home. Subjecting myself to the calls of hatred from afar as being the girl who is "far from good looking" because I have a few more inches on my waist because I'm too scared to workout. To afraid to handle the catcalls, I take the bashing ones instead.
They say "Just wear baggy clothes, but look like a woman." Or "don't look so good, but look like you respect yourself." "Don't wear makeup, but you look like a boy." "Don't wear heels, but those sandals give you hunchback." "Don't stand with your hands on your hips, but don't slouch." "Don't flip your hair, but fix it because it looks awful." "Don't send nudes but don't be a prude." "Don't give it all up right away, but don't tease him." "DONT TRY AND BE PRETTY BECAUSE YOURE ALREADY ENOUGH" yet society stands before us and chucks bottles of foundation, eyeliner and eyeshadow at us from a distance because we are obviously too disgusting to look at without it. "Be an individual! But not so much because society has expectations." BECAUSE SOCIETY HAS STANDARDS. Well who the fuck is society? And why does he hate me...
Growing up the pretty, older girls were the epitome of our adolescent existences. We spent years trying to perfect our hair to cascade down our shoulders in the perfect fashion, or to mold out waists to cinch into the optimal circumference as if that would allow us the opportunity to be loved. Because ugly people get no where. Because people who are fat die before they're 25 and unless your face is perfectly symmetrical you're going to be alone forever.
We are constantly torn between trying to pride ourselves with a beautiful physique and attempting to obscure every fiber of our beings because it's too damn hard for a homosapien with a different set of genitalia than my own to keep his hands off me.
But now after spending decades and countless hours perfecting our physical beings we are told to reverse the beautification process because some jackass in the gym likes the way my butt looks when I squat. We are told to watch how we wear our hair and our makeup patterns because we our physical appearances are too damn erotic for our best friend to handle. So when he pushes you into a wall and slides his grimy hands on that "piece of ass" you've been working on, it's your own fault. And don't you forget it. Because if you say no, you're the bitch who friend zoned him and led him on for months. And if you remains silent you're a whore who just wants to be feel wanted and violated, as if the two are synonymous. But you look into his eyes, those empty panes of glass in his skull, you see the little bits and pieces of your soul swimming around. Your self respect, your dignity, your worth, all masked behind his desires and his lust for your physical attributes. Things he stole from you, along with your innocence. Because apparently this is what you wanted. And once you finally muster up the courage to ask for help the initial question they ask you is, "well... What were you wearing." As if it makes a difference.
But I am a product of choice and a child of consequence so APPARENTLY this is what I wanted. Apparently I wanted to be abused by my best friends boyfriend whom I once loved and she never knew. Because nothing feels as great as being slapped across the face at a high school football game, nothing compares to the feeling of asking someone for help and they responding with ," no you probably deserved it anyway." "I bet you provoked him." Apparently I wanted a friend to fall in love with me and be pressured by my sexual morals and teased with his friendship like a rabbit chasing a carrot on a string.
Because apparently I want to be alone. I strive to be the bitch who breaks up my best friends first relationship and later lose the one friend I had. What more could I possibly want?
Look at my physical scars. Look at them. Look for them. Scan every inch of my being in search for something wrong with me. Can't see them right? Because instead of using that makeup I originally intended to cake onto my face to hide the impurities to build myself into this beautiful woman who could potentially be deserving of love and affection, I put it on my neck to cover the hickeys and the bruises from this so called "pussy-slayer" who took my vulnerability as a form of consent. Or when he pulls at my hair because he "likes it rough" it doesn't matter, right? Hair will grow back. Pools of blood collected under the layer of skin on my neck and my chest will soon disperse. The scent of his cologne will slip off my body down the drain along with my dignity. My self love degrades more and more with each violating touch. And apparently this is what I wanted. So tell me I'm asking for it and I will show you a million reasons why I'm not.
This poem is about:
Need to talk?
If you ever need help or support, we trust CrisisTextline.org for people dealing with depression. Text HOME to 741741