Warning: This work has been rated 18+ for language and mature content.
when you're objectified, the first thoughts in your brain aren't
'fuck off, stop touching me you fucking dickhead."
you wish they were, though, because after
you've left, when you cannot
-"You know that he was only trying to make money, right?"
It makes me realize, even though this situation is nothing near this...when girls are raped, they feel powerless. They become animals; the man, the hunter, and she is the prey. She cannot run, fight or hide. She can only freeze. You lose control."
-"You should tell the person 'no, stop.' You should do those things.
But 'should' is not 'can'."
i was twelve years old
when i skipped down the stone steps,
and happened to run into you.
you called me a name untranslatable in my mother tongue,
you snapped the picture as your shells of friends watched
as my covered face burned with shame, fear, merely laced with fury.
my voice is small as i am rendered mute
i listen to my aunt tell me what i should've said: 别照我。
"don't take a picture of me."
but what if, in the eyes of these subhumans,
my pronouns are "it, it's"
because i am an object for viewing, seeing,
and later, for feeling,
for what i have done does not matter,
for what i can do is stripped away,
along with every fragment, every broken, bleeding piece
of who i am.