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Politics and Activism

Injustices To The Woman Body: A Poetry Selection

My body is not a playground.

Brooklyn Boreing

Aug 31, 2016

Texas State University

Injustices To The Woman Body: A Poetry Selection

Taylor Garletts

I have always hated being called “woman.”

Not as an identification, for I am not ashamed of my sex.

But as a way to get my attention,

to demean me,

to piss me off.

Come back here, woman.

Shut up, woman.

Learn your place, woman.

Woman.

Slut.

Gold digger.

Prude.

Victim.

Statistic.

You see we live in a society,

a community,

a body

of beings

who believe a chromosome divides the world.

That a single body part defines our lives.

XY’s are supposed to

provide for me,

secure me,

tame me,

scare me

into shutting my mouth,

into staying home,

into saying the right thing,

to the right people,

at the right time,

in the right way,

with the right dress on.

I know I am not the only woman in this room

who knows these words as truth,

I know there are men filling this room

who hate what this makes them seem to be.

Because a stereotype is not a definition.

Because profiling is not photography.

Because tradition is not law.

Yet our community continues to perpetuate a culture of separation,

of definition based on the size of my chest and not the content of my brain.

But you see,

I am more than my body.

More than chipped nail polish and my grandmothers ring.

More than cracked lips and cherry ChapStick.

More than distant, cold kisses.

More than light switches and volume knobs.

More than passenger seats and bent over backs.

I am more than a hand grabbing my hand grabbing fabric.

More than that hungry, uncontrollable lust.

More than trying to be enough.

More than a final desperate attempt.

More than being in the mood or it's been a bad day.

More than my tears falling on fabric.

I am more than please babe.

More than It's okay.

More than you're so sexy.

More than hell yes.

More than sex.

I am more.

I am worthy.

Worth conversation.

Worth love.

Worth consent.

I am infatuated with the idea of being asked if I want something.

Because guess what, world?

I am something.

I am someone.

I am 1 in 4.

I am one of many.

Many girls who have been given an injustice

and continue to walk around like the stereotypes that try to define them.

Many girls who must carry around hot pink pepper spray

because the Government hasn’t given us a reason to feel safe.
We see their faces in parking garages,

in our nightmares,

in shadows on the sidewalk,

in every man that gets just a little too close.

And this is not because we believe men are pigs,

this is not because we choose to believe what the media makes XY’s out to be,

this is because society continues to love instilling fear.

Society is not evolving to the sound of fire alarms,

alarms blaring when a college girl screams “FIRE”

because it’s more likely she’ll be saved than screaming “rape.”

Society is not evolving to the flashes of red across the country,

flashes of fear that fill beings everywhere

from a relative, to a stranger, to a significant other.

Society is not evolving because it’s choosing to remain ignorant.

To continue to bathe in an ocean of unknown and misunderstanding,

of unaccepting and ultimately shaming,

those who screamed “No” or were unable to,

those who were bound by their hands above their head,

those who were too scared to admit what happened,

those who are told they are lying or asked for it or told was it really even rape because you liked him?

I am one of those.

I am one who was silenced when I overcame fear.

Silenced by the one I trusted most who stopped loving me because they couldn’t handle my own baggage,

Silenced by questions of “why are you telling people?” and statements like “you just have to let it go.”

Well, I can’t let it go.

I can’t just shut up about it.

I can’t turn a blind eye until America wakes the fuck up and starts doing something about this.

Something about rape.

Something about justice.

Please stand with me,

join my hands,

breathe the same air of fairness

that will come once we say “no more”

No more to being scared to walk home at night.

No more to having our trauma being mocked by rape jokes.

No more to teaching women how not to get raped instead of teaching people not to rape.

No more to defining what I’m asking for by my clothes instead my actions.

No more to letting rapists get away with it.

I am calling bullshit.

Bullshit on rape.

Bullshit on society.

Bullshit on all of this injustice.

And I will continue to fight this bullshit until

there’s no damn more to be fought.

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This article has not been reviewed by Odyssey HQ and solely reflects the ideas and opinions of the creator.

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