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“Everyday I’m running from men”

November 19, 2017 By Contributor

in my dreams
i break my own bones

i snap my wrists in half
so my forearm bones
protrude like
claws

i crack my ribs
loosening them
letting them slip through my skin
to form protective barbs

i do this in my dreams
while walking down the street
or in my home
when i feel threatened and must
protect myself from danger

then i awaken
happy my body is whole

but devastated by the realization
that the fear symbolized by the dream
is all too real

and that everyday i’m not running
from monsters
but men
and their violence against women

– Michelle Marie Ryder

Location: USA

Need support? Call the toll-free National Street Harassment hotline: 855-897-5910

Share your street harassment story for the blog.
See the book 50 Stories about Stopping Street Harassers for idea
s.

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Filed Under: Stories, street harassment Tagged With: fear, poem

I Was 12

April 14, 2015 By Contributor

Guest Blog Post for International Anti-Street Harassment Week 2015

“Hey baby,” leered the greasy man on the public street in broad daylight

I am 12

Why is no one stopping him?

I walk

“I’m talking to you, bitch” he progressed

There are people around

I am 12

I walk, feeling his gaze imagining what’s underneath my clothing

Six and a half out of ten and I am one of them

I am 12

I faced my first harasser

I felt his gaze linger

I felt the sweat droplets roll down my face. It was hot. It was summer.

I was taught to dress modest though it is 100 degrees

I am 12

I am being sexualized

I am being called a slut and a whore and a cunt for ignoring these greasy men

I am “asking for this attention” and this “attention is a compliment” and “how are men supposed to meet women if they can’t yell obscenities at them from the street?”

How is a 12 year old supposed to walk down a street alone?

Why am I expected to carry pepper spray with me at 12?

Why was it that I got pepper spray for Christmas when I was 15?

Why do I have to change my habits to accommodate these grown greasy men?

Why is this happening to 11 and 12 and 13 and 25 year olds?

Why is it that our walk has to be commented on?

Why is our body being treated like a public display?

Why are girls constantly sexualized unwillingly?

What is appealing about lack of consent?

Why am I being sexualized at 12?

“Hey baby” is a phrase that haunts many women

“Hey baby” perpetuates the culture that shames women’s natural bodies while simultaneously sexualizing them

“Hey baby” has been said to roughly 65% of women

“Hey baby” is not my name

I was 12

I am 17 and I’ve been harassed ever since.

 

Chloe Parker, from @rebel.grrrl

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Filed Under: anti-street harassment week, Stories, street harassment Tagged With: @rebel.grrrl, #EndSHWeek, adolescent, EndSH, harassment, poem, slam poetry, teenage

We Leave the World Outside

January 14, 2013 By Contributor

Editor’s Note: This blog post is cross-posted with permission from Cris’s blog Go the Way Your Blood Beats.

Preface: This is an older poem that addresses street violence and harassment. As a gender non conforming person of color, street harassment is an everyday reality.  It always astounds me how much the violence increases when I am traveling with a perceived “femme.” I can write some of the violence off as patriarchy, homophobia, fear, but intellectualizing it still doesn’t take away the after effects of violence, my body literally tenses up.

I am constantly thinking about negotiating space, when not to hold hands, which group of cis-men I should avoid, I constantly think about my safety and my partner/lover’s safety.  I also think about how as queer people this effects our interpersonal relationships.   When the outside world DOES creep into our beds, how do we take care of ourselves?  How do we empower ourselves in a world that strips us of dignity and attempts to make us feel ashamed of who we are.  What psychological and physical effects does this have on our community as a whole?

I have done searches online on safety planning specifically for street harassment for Queer folks and I’ve yet to find any.  Most resources are centered on intimate partner violence (straight & queer), but what about stranger violence? If you have resources please share. I will repost.

be safe.
-Cris

Cris Izaguirre is a Latin@, queer, poet, farmboi, producer, wanderer, lover of green things.  Raised in Brooklyn, NY, born in Nicaragua. Follow Cris on twitter @criswordsmith.  Check out their blog.
————————————————

We Leave the World Outside
for M

Beneath my red, pink, yellow stripped sheets

trace your flushed

cheeks with my thumb

kiss the corners of your mouth

Leave the world outside

 

See, outside in the world

our kind of love

is met with purple bruises

crimson splatter concrete, fists and broken teeth

bones split so easily

words shatter sternum

“Bitch! Dyke! Faggot!

You wanna be a man?

I’ll show you what a man is”

 

Inside, we mend love

suture muscle and flesh

using lips and tongue

“Saturate me” you say

I let the tears fall

heavy as sin

onto your collarbone

Leave the world outside

 

Lover, I fear

my skin and bones

aren’t steel

aren’t enough

to protect you

To risk a kiss on the Q train

to risk touching your face

on Ocean Avenue

before the change of a traffic light

to hold your lifeline in mine

 

At night I dream

the world is trying to get inside

underneath our sheets

onto our bodies

I wake up gasping for air

You pull me by my chin

Pull the red, pink, yellow stripped sheets

Over our heads

“Leave the world outside.”

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Filed Under: street harassment Tagged With: poem, queer rights, sexual violence

Poem: Midnight in London

February 2, 2012 By Contributor

Man in the shadows at the end of the street, I see you.
I saw you cross the road, I see you stop.

It is midnight in suburban London.
You have no reason to stop there.
When there is a lone woman walking behind you.

I stop before my path crosses yours,
Run through my garden gate and into my house,
Only realising as my key turns in the lock,
That now you know where I live.

– Cat

Location: Streatham Hill, London, UK

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Filed Under: Stories, street harassment Tagged With: poem

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