Just For Me

I had my own demons

I didn’t need yours

But when you left

you left yours behind

 

Maybe you meant no harm

maybe you forgot them

 

But I know that’s not true

you left them just for me

to pick me apart

like vultures at the dead of night

 

 

 

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It’s Not Funny

A couple of weeks ago, my school, a private school, had a meeting for all the girls in the high school. We have a dress code at our school.

  • No straps that are less than three fingers
  • Nothing that is more than four inches above your knee
  • No stomach showing
  • No over-exposing your back
  • No strapless

We have a running joke in our school, boys and girls. We say, “Omigod your shoulders are SOOO distracting!” ……because shoulders are not a target for sexual harassment.

So on one hand we have the sexual harassment and on the other we have the target of the sexual harassment. And let me be clear, the target is almost never the actual person….it is the body part. So, what do you think is the real problem…the target? or the actual harassment? To me, at least, the answer is obvious. We should be fixing the real problem…the harassment, which means talking to the harassers.

Now, back to the beginning when I mentioned my school had a meeting for all the high school girls. The teachers had a “fashion show” of acceptable and not acceptable things to wear to school. I will admit…the dress code is almost nonexistent because most people ignore it….and occasionaly I will. So I do think it is important that students obey the schools’ rules. However, the school does not enforce it AT ALL and then have this meeting with us.

It seemed like they were trying to have a serious discussion with us about dressing apropriatly while making us laugh….almost all of us were not laughing. As I looked around the auditorium, I saw people shaking their heads or grimacing. The teachers were actually telling us to dress better according to their standards in order to not attract the wrong attention. The wrong attention aka sexual harassment.

Now, where were the boys? They were in a seperate room also being talked to. About harassing girls? Of course not. About how they dress to chapel.

Now these teachers. I am sure they meant no harm. And in fact no harm was done, because that is the way things are today. They didn’t make anything worse. It was already this bad.

I onetime had a teacher come up to me. I was wearing a dress, on the shorter side I admit, but not because I wanted any type of attention from guys. I decided to wear that dress that day because …..well it was a cute dress. I should add I wore it with tights that were black and not transparent. It was my spanish teacher. She told me, “I think you are showing people more than you want them to see.” Well, I am sorry, but that is not your decision. And, as a woman, I will not let you take away my right to dress the way I want because you fear me getting harassed. How about you go talk to those boys that have been harassing me my whole life no matter what I wear.

SSSAS

 

Rape Culture

Rape is a type of sexual assault usually involving sexual intercourse or other forms of sexual penetration perpetrated against a person without that person’s consent.

“without that person’s consent”

What does consent mean? That is what people are getting confused about in today’s society. Before everyone attacks me saying that they aren’t confused and knows what it means, I don’t mean everyone is confused. I mean some people are just uneducated. It is not necessarily their fault, but it is something that us common people can change. Therefore here is the exact definition of consent:

consent: permission for something to happen or agreement to do something

People say oh well she was asking for it by wearing a tight dress. Let’s just make something clear…wearing a tight dress is NOT saying “let’s have sex.” All it is saying is…..nothing. It is a dress for god sakes! Instead of focusing on what the victim did, can we all just agree to focus on putting the bastard in jail who violated not only her physical privacy , but her emotional privacy as well.

Chapter One

I took out the rusted keys from the pocket of the black peacoat my mother got me for Christmas a week ago. I sighed as I looked at the chipping paint on my apartment door, knowing I couldn’t even afford new paint. I unlocked my door and pushed on it. Damn it. It’s stuck again. I put all my weight on the door. It finally gave in. I threw my brown leather messenger bag on the dresser and collapsed on my gradually sinking beige couch, exhausted from a long day’s work at the law office. You would think I would be getting paid more for working at a law office. One of the richest in New York City in fact. But I am not a lawyer. I never even planned to, but after I escaped college with a degree in Pre-Law, finding nothing else that inspired me, I applied for an internship at the Fordman firm and was accepted, along with nine other students. So, in long and short of it, I get paid just enough to afford an apartment in the dumps of NYC and…well, that’s about it. And I spend ten hours a day drudging around coffee for different people, maybe getting to visit the prison to take notes furiously, copying down everything that is being said. That is not to say I don’t appreciate the oppurtunity. I am sure other people would be happy to swipe up my job in a split second, but the truth is, this job is temporary. I am still waiting for something that inspires me. And as cliche as it sounds, I am waiting for something to give me the chance to truly change lives. And not in the way of providing a caffeine booster for a millionare in the morning.

I find my way to the closet sized bedroom that has pencil skirts and blouses from outlets sprawled across the bed….and most of the floor. I strip down and hop into an icy shower. I can only afford a five minute shower a day…I did the math…., so I wrapped a towel around my knotted hair and dried off. I pulled on my Bowdoin college tshirt and yoga pants that somehow found themselves under my bed. Having no heat in NYC on a cold December night is not the ideal situation, so I rummage around until I can find my favorite wool cardigan. Finally warm enough, I head to what some might call a kitchen and pour myself a glass of cheap red wine. You know the kind. The one in the aisle of the grocery store where it is stored with the Coke and Pepsi. It still eases my mind nonetheless. I sit down on what I call my bubble chair by the window (it almost feels as though you are floating above the ground). It is the one thing I saved up for for months….it was worth it. I pulled out my laptop and opened PenIt. Yes, I have a blog. Apparently, as an intern at Fordman lawfirm we are not allowed to post personal information online. So I keep it anonymous. But it helps just the same. It helps me feel connected with the rest of the world while my life is a whirlwind of cappucinos and white chocolate mochas made from an over-priced Italian coffeemaker.

 

Since When?

Have you ever wondered if, in twenty years, it will be normal for, I don’t know, a twelve year old, to lose her virginity? If you’re a guy, you might not have thought about this. A mutual friend of mine, or more of a flirt, told me he has been with four girls. I, of course, have no way of knowing whether this is true or not. He may have just been trying to impress me. News flash: It did the opposite. I am used to guys being generally sexual. I am in high school for god’s sakes. But never had a fourteen year old guy actually told me he had lost his virginity and wanted me to lose mine. With him. A guy I have known, for, let’s say ten days to make it sound better. I have only seen him in person once….and it was for an hour. This brings me back to my original question. Since when has it become acceptable for a fourteen year old to already have lost his virginity?

Why

“It’s not fair that we can’t go out just because you don’t feel like getting up.” This is just to say that…..this is why we hide our depression

Source: Why