Me Too.

For the countless times I’ve felt unsafe walking by a group of men catcalling me.

For the boy who slipped a finger in without consent. The same boy who put my hand on his dick while we were kissing.

For the boy who wouldn’t stop touching me no matter how tightly I curled into myself to block him out.

For the man who came up behind me while I was dancing and held me against him until I finally broke free.

For the guys on dating sites who harassed me when I rejected them.

For the man who slid his hand over my breasts and butt while I was dancing at a wedding.

For the boy who slapped my butt to prove something to his friends.

For the tumblr anon who was sweet at first then became sexually aggressive.

For the guys at the mall who pointed at my breasts and commented on their size as if I couldn’t hear.

For the boy who tried to finger me in the pool in 8th grade.

For the man who tried to trick me into meeting him after we met in a chat room when I was in elementary school.

For the man who slipped something into my drink and tried to take me home.

For all the times I’ve felt like I couldn’t speak up because it would cause a scene, create drama, or I wouldn’t be believed.

For all the times I let things happen because I thought it was my role as a woman to be submissive.

Me too.


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