A co-worker closed the door to the staff room behind him.
It locked automatically
and I started planning what I could use as a weapon:
smash the glass beside the fridge into his eye.
pick up the fork next to me and sink it into his leg.
claw him across the face if I couldn’t get to anything in time.
As I calculated how hard it would be to shove his body weight off of me,
he finished making his lunch, said, “Sup,” and left,
the door automatically locking behind him.
I expect if I told him I was prepared to stab him with the corner of my staff ID if I had to,
he would say what I’ve heard too often, the one we all know
but are getting wearily suspicious of:
Not all men are like That.
When I was eleven, all the girls in my class got sent to self-defence
because they assumed we’d need it one day.
When I was twelve, there was a prostitute’s body dumped in the river next to my house
because someone thought she was disposable.
When I was thirteen, it happened again and this time the man went to jail
and people stood outside the courtroom and held up signs that he did the right thing.
When I was fourteen, my friend showed up to a sleepover late, chest heaving from sobbing
and from running four blocks after getting chased by a man that followed her off the bus.
When I was fifteen, my mother accused me of being a Man Hater
and I said, “No, but god, would you blame me if I was?”
I got catcalled and then got laughed at when I flipped them off.
they pulled up beside me and I clutched my bag tighter,
my hand going in for my keys and my mind going over how their noses would look
if I smashed them in with my elbow.
“What’s the big deal,” the guy at the steering wheel asked. “We’re just complimenting you. We’re not like That.”
Sorry, but I’m not going to trust you in case I end up on a poster labelled ‘MISSING.’
Even if you seem like the nicest guy, I’ll still have one hand holding my keys
as the only knife I’m allowed, because I don’t know how far you’re going to take it:
if you won’t back off when I tell you I don’t want to date you
if you’ll shout BITCH at me when I don’t respond well to your catcall
if you’ll expect my body as a reward for treating me like a human being
if you’ll try to take what you think you’re owed by being a man
if you’ll turn me into another statistic that people shudder away from.
I have been trained to assume that it’s a wolf in sheep’s clothing
or face the consequences.
I don’t know if you’ll nod when I reject you
or pump me full of bullets.
Every single woman I’ve talked to has a story where they haven’t felt safe in their own body
because of what a man said or did.
Not all men are like That, but god, it’s enough.”
The most impressive naval career of all the female sailors is that of William Brown, a black woman who spent at least twelve years on British warships, much of this time in the extremely demanding role of captain of the foretop. A good description of her appeared in London’s Annual Register in September 1815: “She is a smart, well-formed figure, about five feet four inches in height, possessed of considerable strength and great activity; her features are rather handsome for a black, and she appears to be about twenty-six years of age.” The article also noted that “in her manner she exhibits all the traits of a British tar and takes her grog with her late messmates with the greatest gaiety.”
Brown was a married woman and had joined the navy around 1804 following a quarrel with her husband. For several years she served on the Queen Charlotte, a three-decker with 104 guns and one of the largest ships in the Royal Navy. Brown must have had nerve, strength, and unusual ability to have been made captain of the foretop on such a ship….The captain of the foretop had to lead a team of seamen up the shrouds of the foremast, and then up the shrouds of the fore-topmast and out along the yards a hundred feet or more above the deck….
At some point in 1815, it was discovered that Brown was a woman and her story was published in the papers, but this does not seem to have affected her naval career….What is certain is that Brown returned to the Queen Charlotte and rejoined the crew.”
oh spiderbite’s version of “Black Betty” you are going to get arrested after a beating one day. it came on Iphone next thing I know I am doing 95 MPH on I-85… oops. one day I am going to see those blue lights and feel froggy and you see me on the six o’clock news and O lord if I am driving something with power… three words for then “Ball of Fire” https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ckPfk3Lu8PU
I must disagree (a poem)
(in response to this youtube video https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=uqJUxqkcnKA)
Ms. Sarkeesian I must
With your request
For me to stop using
Women as my muses
I must ask you to understand
The place you put me
Because you see
You are asking me
To give up telling
The stories of women
That has inspire me
Women that has made me
A better person
That made the world
A better place
To live in
Women that have lived through
Abuse, assault, insults, and threats
And coming through it all
Stronger each with stories
To tell and tips to give
Taking names back like:
Bitch, Whore and Diva
And turning them
On their heads
With an embrace
Making them their own
Being in the work place
Being doctors and lawyers
Writers and musicians
Actors and dancers
Teachers and scientist
Mothers and in relationships
All with a voice
And things to say
I am in the trenches
As a reporter
Giving them a chance
When they may not
Get that chance
Or giving them
A nod to speak
Their own mind
As I give my own
View on their beauty tales
On the hardships they face
From the one and four assaults
To the day to day of
Keeping a loving relationship
Going when the odds are against them
To the fight against
And fighting to rises a family
In this economy
Each of these women
Are my muses
They have stories to show
To teach men
They should be listen to
To be treated as equals
If not as betters in some cases
Because they are our:
Friends, lovers, mothers, daughters,
Sisters, wives and born to share
This planet with us
So Ms. Sarkeesian
With all due respect
I must disagree
For I write about these women
Because I love them
Because I respect their
Struggles and strength
Because I believe in them
Because they are what
Make this world better
Their stories all
Need to be told
I hope by them
And I hope
By me trying to do it first
They will see me trying
And will take up the pen
Or whatever form the choose
And do it better
So forgive me
Ms. Sarkeesian but in this case
I will have to disagree.