When I was six years old, I gave my first blowjob. “It’s A Game, Don’t You Want To Play?,” He Said




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When I was seventeen, I called for help as a drunken man tried to sexually harass me in a crowded street. The people around me seemed to walk by quicker.

 




At eighteen, I was told that sexism doesn’t exist in modern society.
I was told that harassment couldn’t be as bad as us women make it out to be.
That I should watch what I wear.
Never mind you were six, never mind you were wearing pink pajamas.

 

That I should be louder.
But not too loud, a lady must be polite.
That I should always ask for help.

But stop overreacting, there’s a difference.
That I should stay in at night, because it isn’t safe.

You can’t get harassed in broad daylight.
That I should always travel with no less than two boys with me.

You need to be protected.

That it can’t be that hard to be a girl.

I am now nineteen years old.
I am now tired.

 

 

(This poem was first noticed and anonymously submitted to Glasnost.)

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