(sleep wake hope and then) twitter.com/clareoliviaaa
If I kept tally marks for every time someone like you objectified me
on the street, I’d have more tally marks on paper
than notches in my bedpost. How’s that for oppression?
My great-grandmother lived for so long in a home covered
with wallpaper containing illustrations of a woman doing housework
that to this day she still flinches whenever her daughter
refuses to do the dishes after dinner.
But my bedroom is covered in wallpaper made out of a dozen
different maps of the world so one day I can escape this place
and travel to some sort of oasis where no one comments
on the length of my skirt or crawls their eyes up my ribs
like they’re climbing a ladder to get to the hidden treasure.
Whistles are for dogs, and I’m not the kind of woman
who keeps her tail between her legs.
I was born to a mother who gave birth without painkillers
yet didn’t even scream when her inner walls ruptured
and everything grew bloody and dark,
so if you think I’m all body and no strength or brain,
remember where my DNA came from.
Maybe I need these long legs to get across the street,
but I need this brain to avoid being run over by a car,
and let me tell you something.
I’d rather be hit by a cement truck
than a car driven by a sexist asshole such as yourself.