What I wish my words could tell you
But I can’t.
I wish I could tell you that all my life I’ve been expected to starve myself. But you use my body, my boobs to market your cheeseburgers.
I wish I could express what it feels like to be in the room with a man who says personality is more important than looks but turns around and says “she doesn’t meet my standards” when a girl doesn’t meet the made up opinion of beauty. News flash: We see through you.
I wish that you knew how many times I’ve been told no. No, I’m not good enough. No, I’m not worth an explanation. No, I don’t even deserve the decent human respect that you get just for being a man.
I wish I could tell you how many times I’ve been told to shut up. By being ignored. By being told I’m too dramatic. By being told my opinion doesn’t matter so often that there were times I was convinced.
I wish I could tell you what it feels like to be torn from the inside while lying lifeless. But more importantly- I wish you really, really cared. I know you wish it didn’t happen but it does.. and I wish you thought about it more than you do. Even the best of you. I wish you cared as much as you think you do just because you’ve never raped someone. As if that’s some kind of solution to the problem.
And I wish I could convince you that all of your excuses to not fight for me are louder than your meaning well.
I wish I could prove to you that even the men with the best intentions objectify me every single day by silently comparing me to the woman on their Instagram feed. I hate hearing you moan when you see her picture as if she’s food. When did licking your lips become some kind of term of endearment? Don’t lick your lips when you look at her. Don’t lick your lips when you look at me. I’m not your dinner and I’m not yours.
My heart aches and head hurts trying to find ways to convince you to be on my side.
And not by defending me in private. But by standing loud and proud for us.
I wish you would fight for me when a man nudges you, looks at her and says “wish I could hit that ass”. Or when your friend makes the comment like, “man, that’d be worse than a dick in the ass” as if rape is something that could ever, ever be compared to anything else. And in case you’re wondering, I’ve heard these sentiments more than I care to count.
I do not know how to get to you. I don’t know how to convince you that we are not equal to you.
One day, I will feel safe in a room full of you. One day, I will be able to walk down the sidewalk in broad daylight without being yelled or whistled at. One day the girl who isn’t catcalled won’t feel like she’s somehow less than the girl who is because that’s what our society has made her believe is normal and flattering. One day, I will be defined not by what is in the mirror but by my passions, compassion, beliefs, and opinions. One day, I will be taken as seriously as you and will be able to have conversations without your thoughtless, perverted, and offensive jokes. One day- if you stand for me.
I know you are scared to admit that you have done this to me for so long. I know you are scared to admit that this is a culture and not just my problem- but yours too.
Has your being ever been pushed down so far that you feel beneath everyone around you?
Mine has. Hers has too. Whoever your her is, be it your sister or daughter, she has felt this way.
Please know that I don’t wish these societal tragedies and targets on you. I just want you to see me. Will you fight for me? Will you fight for her? What can I do to convince you that we need you in this? My heart is so heavy as I beg of you to fight against the things you have been conditioned to believe are normal behavior. Don’t fall into the same trap as those before you and convince yourself that “boys will be boys”.. be better.
These are things I wish my words could tell you.














