Mills St, Rachel French

Mills St By Rachel French

Save your “woe is me” Tale about the fictitious nature of male privilege. Look me in my tired eyes and tell me that There is no benefit to being a man. Laugh in the faces of the suffragettes, The 54 or 77 cents to your dollar, The 1 in 4 college women who will become victims of Sexual assault.

Tell me then About how I was not innocent in my own experience. Walking alone late at night is a sin That must be punished. Do I deserve this–My assaulter’s face burned into my memory? His hands on my inner thighs, Breath on my neck every time I try to fall asleep?

I have never met a woman who does not Carry her keys between her fingers. One who neglects to check the backseat Or waits longer than a beat to lock her car doors. It is ingrained in us as deeply As the way we draw breath. If there is an opportunity, A blind spot–You asked for it And are no longer the victim.

I am followed through my place of work “When do you get off” in addition to an expletive. This man is over 40 I am a fresh 19. My male coworker laughs when I tell him I am afraid. The terror follows me home.

At school I am told that my skirt is too short But there are just 3 sizes, and none fit me right. The boys laugh and touch me as I walk up the stairs to class–I am 12.

For every victim of assault I know, She knows 3 more. We are told how to protect ourselves but has Anyone thought to tell the boys To leave us alone? My waist is grabbed in a crowd as he Whispers in my ear “Excuse me” But there is nothing polite about what I feel on my hip.

When I come forward about my own assault, I am asked why I never reported it. I watched Brock Turner serve mere months for rape And I did not even know my attacker. What would have come of this Besides my humiliation? I am sure the man does not even remember what I look like But I can see his face always. Mills St. is no longer safe for me to travel, Even in the light of day.

I took every precaution as a woman. My location was known by 5 friends and 10 roommates. I was on the phone with my brother There were people to check that I had made it home safely. Someone was walking the same way home And I could feel them behind me. I was on edge, prepared. And still it did not matter.

When you disregard male privilege You are laughing in the face of every woman who has suffered through a trauma similar to mine. And worse yet Those who endured more. Because I am told again And again That it could have been worse. I am lucky I should be thankful That I only have to heal through this 5 minutes And nothing more.