The world is a nasty place. This piece is about a victim being blamed...
Always Be My Fault
Walking down the street in broad daylight, I'm in jeans and a baggy t-shirt. I walk past you and the discomfort is real. You stare at me, taking me in as a whole. You stare at my butt and I shudder.
You think it is funny calling me out, objectifying me, you walk towards me. I pick up my pace but you think I'm playing hard. You get me alone somehow but I try to escape. My trials are in vain and I scream but no one hears.
You touch me and, the more I tell you to stop the more you enjoy watching me struggle. I cry and I beg, you tear my clothes off of me. I fight but you don't stop even for a second. My NO challenges you and you continue.
You leave me naked, bruised, sore. I feel dirty. Though it isn't my fault, I am to be blamed for what happened. Apparently, my jeans are provocative. The society is in support of you. They say, "It takes two to clap."
I smile at you, I provoke you. I wear jeans, I provoke you. I party with my friends, I provoke you. My NOs are not respected. They aren't even heard, in the first place.
I could be roaming about naked, it would be my fault. I could be wearing a burqa, it would still be my fault. Whether I am three months old or eighty years old, it would be my fault. It would always be my fault.