A poem about some things that I refuse to think

I can't think of how some people think that rape culture and body-shaming is alright,

Not when just the other day, his little sister cried saying that people are calling her a slut because she sent a pair of boobs to her boyfriend-not even her pair of boobs,

Not when it got so bad that people wouldn't let her use the school bathroom because she had adult cooties, when she didn't,

Or Tuesday, when she walked up to the guy and said why did you send those everywhere and he said: "because I thought they were mine for the taking." To which she nodded silently before replying, "next time I'll have to read the fine print."

Bodies are not meant to be owned and I can't think that anyone would want to buy a human but some people do.

But that next Monday, when he walked into school to see the flowers and the ribbons and 'we will always love you's' attached to the locker she had before she tried to kill herself, failed, and moved schools.

"Let them think I'm dead." She stated.

How can this happen? How can an older brother sit and watch it happen and.... when he hears the story he almost doesn't believe his sister anymore. Seen the picture. Milky white breasts against a black background and suddenly he takes into consideration flash can have an affect on the image-they were decent sized, but this was his sister, wasn't it?

When he and his sister stopped talking, she didn't notice the absence. In her mind, he was never there. Each day she picked herself up, put herself together, and handled it.

She got her happy ending.

Ladies, please remember that you are a book of matches-burning,

You're so hot that people are scared to touch you. They can't drink you straight so they ask to get drinks but you're smart-you don't drink them.

You remember when it happened to your best friends mom, she made it out okay, but... what if she hadn't? You didn't wanna know because you did.

Breathe and think, don't pause because he's cute-question everything. Make your DJ name DJ Slutty Socrates because if anyone body shames you, it's you, no one else. Maybe your mom, but that's okay because you look just like her and you both laugh about it.

I can't think about why I have to tell you this because I know. 

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Bridget Meier
Bridget Meier

I am an activist. For rights and choices. For the silent. My medium is poetry, but I do have short stories and to-be-continued's. I have a whole book. I'm looking for it to be published soon. I'm a jack of all trades. 

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