It's 2009 and I'm 14 and I'm crying.
Not really sure where I am, but I'm holding the hand of my bestfriend Sam in the waiting room of a Planned Parenthood.
The air is sterile and clean, and the walls are that not grey, but green.
And the lights are so bright they could burn a hole through the seam of my jeans.
My phone is buzzing in the pocket. My mom is asking me if I remembered my keys 'cause she needs to lock it.
But I can't tell my mom where I've gone. I can't tell anyone at all.
You see, my bestfriend Sam was raped by a man that we knew 'cause he worked in the after-school program. And he held her down with her textbooks beside her. And he covered her mouth and then he came inside her.
So now, I'm with Sam at the place with a plan, waiting for the results of a medical exam. And she's praying she doesn't need an abortion, she couldn't afford it. And her parents, would, like, totally her.
it's 2002 and my family just moved and the only people I know are my mom's friends, Sue, and her son. He's got a case of Matchbox cars and he says that he'll teach me to play the guitar if I just be quiet.
And the stairwell beside apartment 1245 will haunt me in my sleep for as long as I am alive. And I'm too young to know why it aches in my thighs, but I must lie, I must lie.
It's 2012 and I'm dating a guy. And I sleep in his bed and I just learned how to drive.
And he's older than me, and he drinks whiskey neat and he's paying for everything.
This adult thing, it's not cheap.
We've been fighting a lot, almost 10 times a week.
And he wants to have sex, and I just want to sleep. But he say's I can't say anything no to him. This much I owe to him. He buys my dinner so I have to blow him.
He's taken to forcing me down on my knees. And I'm confused, 'cause he's hurting me while he says please.
And he's only a man, and these things he just needs. He is my boyfriend. So why am I filled with unease?
It's 2017 and I live like a queen. And I've followed damn near everyone of my dreams. I'm invincible and I'm so fucking naive.
I believe I'm protected 'cause I live on a screen. Nobody would dare act that way around me. I've earned my protection, eternally clean.
Until a man that I trust gets his hands in my pants. But I don't want none of that, I just wanted to dance. And I wake up the next morning like I'm in a trance and there's blood. Is that my blood? Oh, hold a minute.
You see, I've worked everyday since I was 18. I've toured everywhere from Japan to Mar-a-lago. I even went on stage that night in Chicago when I was having a miscarriage.
I mean, I pied the piper, I put on a diaper. And sang out my spleen to a room full of teens.
What do you mean this happened to me? You can't put your hands on me. You don't know what my body has been through. I'm supposed to be safe now. I'm earned it.
It's 2018 and I've realized that nobody is safe long as she is alive. And every friend that I know has a story like mine.
And the world tells me we should take it as a compliment. But then héroes like Ashley and Simon, Mckayla and Gaga, Rosario, Aly remind me this is the beginning, it's not the finale.
And that's why We're here. And that's why we rally. It's Olympians and a medical resident a not one fucking word from the man who is President.
It's about closed doors and secrets and legs and stilettos from the Hollywood hills to the projects in ghettos.
When babies are ripped from the arms of teen mothers and child brides cry globally under the covers. Who don't have a voice on the magazine covers. They tell us take cover.
But we are not free until all of us are free. So, love your neighbour, please treat her kindly. Ask her, her story and then shut up and listen.
Black, Asian, Poor, Wealthy, Trans, Cis, Muslim, Christian. Listen, listen and then yell at the top of your lungs. Be a voice for all those who have prisoner tongues.
For the people who had to grow up way too young. There is work to be done. There are songs to be sung. Lord knows there's a war to be won.
