Dear men: We are DONE.

It’s not our job.
It’s not our job to remain un-murdered.
It’s not our job to prevent attacks on our own bodies.
It’s not our job to walk around on guard like our own personal secret service agent.
It’s not our job to have to google legal defensive weapons lest WE get more attention from the guards than our attacker does.
It’s not our job to watch what we wear, drink, take, say, or watch who we lock eyes with on a night out, whether on purpose or by accident.
It’s not our job to have an escape plan playing on a loop in our head from the minute we leave place A to walk to place B.
It’s not our job to set a self-imposed curfew from sundown to decrease both the chance of attack and the chance of being blamed in the aftermath.
It’s not our job to need a chaperone.
It’s not our job to now have to watch our backs in the day as well, because now the night isn’t enough for predators any more.
It’s not our job to carry our keys through our fingers locked into a fist like Wolverine but with none of his superhero strength.
It’s not our job to feel on a regular basis the primal fear that crashes down through our bloodstream like an icy waterfall from our head down to our core when we hear footsteps getting louder behind us.
It’s not our job to have to attend more vigils than nights out with our friends.
It’s not our job to witness those vigils being targeted by angry entitled fucked up men, because all our so-called safe spaces are coveted by predators who aren’t satisfied with just violating our normal daily lives any more.
It’s not our job to dread seeing a woman’s name on a hashtag and fearing the worst, to steel ourselves for a news report and footage of flowers and candles on a pathway.
It’s not our job to then get attacked online when we have the audacity to show rage instead of just passive non-threatening sadness.
It’s not our job. It never was.
It’s not our fault. It never was.
It wasn’t her job.
It wasn’t her fault.
We’re done. We quit.
Men, step up. There’s a job going. Take it and sort it out.
End of broadcast.

A Lost Love Poem

Insignificant Other

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Mental Health: #NotJustAHeadline

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