My body is mine.
I didn't say we could cross the line,
your hand on my body.
Thinking that you're mighty.
The look on your face,
when I told you personal space
was the look of confusion.
That's what is wrong with this institution.
When a man can put his hands on a female.
Telling only gets him a simple email.
Saying that it's not okay.
As if that'll make him stay away.
His words like an assault,
but I keep my voice in a vault.
The words I once spoke,
were taken as a type of joke.
But what if it's not only me,
that's sending you this simple plea,
that our forces can align
So this man knows,
this body is mine.
*to all the survivors, I see you*
YOU ARE READING
The Line
PoetryThis poem is for all the times I have had someone touch me without my consent. Men at work, in the store and at the gas station.
