day 170

A response to those who lack compassion
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When I was 6
they told me I could be anything my heart desires
Maybe a doctor, or a lawyer,
or even a dancer if I really wanted
they told me if I worked hard enough
I could change the world
If I believed in my dreams
I could help others fall asleep soundly
in homes with white picket fences
two small dogs
a lover
and beautiful babies

When I turned 19
they asked me why I want to write
and why I want to write so often
and how much money I would make

When I was 11
I never asked why I was molested
Why I knew what rape was at age 13
Why the sound of a scream being muffled is always overlooked
So when I turned 16
the ignorant boys always asked me why I never wanted to hear rape jokes
They asked me when I would get a sense of humor
Joked around, "maybe it would grow into me like puberty"

When I turned 18
they asked me why my poetry turned so sad
They never asked me how 7 years of hating your body affects your soul
How less womanly I felt growing up
They asked me why I write so deep
like I hold all my secrets in the palm of my hands
and bite my tongue like it was muscle memory
I do not want to remember the first time I felt dirty
They never ask me why I wash my hands twice
or lock both doors once I get home
I still fear walking alone in the daytime but I do it anyway
and I refuse to take self defense classes because I still refuse to accept my defeat

We all grow up knowing we could be anything our little hearts desire
Maybe a doctor, or a lawyer,
or even a dancer if you really wanted
When I was 10
I grew up wanting to be a veterinarian
When I was 15
an engineer
When I turned 19
I decided to be a writer
I will never find a cure for rape, disrespect, or the cold hearted
There will never be enough humor in me to make my body feel more womanly
I will never stop being afraid of holding such big secrets

I still wish my body would forget how to bite my tongue
I dropped out of my first semester of college because the boys in my sociology class think rape is by choice

We do not grow up knowing we could be rape victims
or failed suicide attempts
When I was 12
my art teacher told me I had the hands of Michelangelo
She told me to sculpt the world however my heart desires
I asked her how to mold an angel
untouched and young
without the wings
When I was 14
No one asked me why I wanted to fly so bad
When I was 17
I realized I had asked my art teacher to save me

I am 19
I decided to be a writer to sculpt the minds of women with dreams to help them fall asleep soundly in homes with white picket fences
two small dogs
a lover
and beautiful babies
You see,
when I was 5
this was the dream for every child stuck in a grown up body
After trapping a woman into my 11 year old body for so long,
it is the only safety I've trained my muscle memory to keep