October 6, 2018

Society itself, and a majority of reactions to the political things I post on social media, is leaving me to feel that men would like me better if I kept my opinions to myself, and was nicer about my disagreements. That is an excellent idea, and I wish I didn't feel the need to be as outspoken as I am. Something needs to be done, something needs to be done now. My country broke my heart today.

I will bear my mind openly, unabashedly, and unapologetically until rape is once again a four letter word instead of a joke.

When ties are cut, I will say good riddance because I only need people who stand with me, not those who stand above me looking down and spitting on me. You will not crush me into quiet. You will not make me eat my words when I say "me too."

He says, "I didn't do it" and nobody flinches, but a fifteen year old girl gets molested in school by her teacher and they blame it on the extra two inches of skin on her thighs showing.

He is innocent until proven guilty, but I am sentenced to shame and a polygraph because of the organ between my legs. You grill me and study me like an insect under glass, a manipulative and cunning foe—full of power, to be feared, a foe, but I am too emotionally unsound to be put in office.

I am not heard when I scream for help, but you contend that I am too much of a distraction for you. Please, tell me how I can distract someone who chooses not to see me.

But I am a distraction. A distraction from what? A president who is sexually attracted to his daughter? Obviously I only see it that way because I grew up without a father and it skewed my vision of how I see the relationship between women and the men who swear against having sexual relations with them.

I swear to God, if I ever have a daughter I'm gonna name her Caitlyn, because if she has a vagina inside her then Kavanaugh can't keep his hands to himself. Y'all are so scared of each other that if you think she has a dick, she has the power of making other men run screaming from each other.

If I say nothing then it probably didn't happen, but if I bring it up I'm just seeking attention because how the hell could I get revenge other than using rape as an ulterior intention? And now we can't decide on a goddamn definition and have to rank the pain based on whether it's equivalent to being accused of something he swears he didn't do.

'Snatch, bitch, cunt,' 'shut up and take a joke,' 'it doesn't mean anything why are you so stuck up?' I can't so much as stand up for myself but if another man says your car's a piece of shit you won't hesitate to throw the first punch.

Well Nikki, that's guy talk. Right, but it's my body you're degrading, a deep rooted figment of my being. You're happy enough to stick your penis into it, but when I act out, it's derogatory language and you use it to shut me up.

I know you keep me around because I have a pretty face, but I'm annoying and loud when my opinion comes to play. You block me out. Social media is basically Newsweek and you'll sit behind a computer screen musing about the things you'd do to me. But that mouth you want to fuck, well, I use it and you hate me because I want to be allowed to move it and say things with which you don't agree. I'm unapologetically me and if beating my chest and screaming for what I believe makes me unlikeable or ugly, I'll wear that mask and I'll stick my ugly face in yours and I'll scream into your soul until you hear me—

Or until i am silenced.

Oh no, you can't quiet me. You can't shut me up, you can't hide from me. We both know you're more afraid than I am, you can't even have a rational conversation with a black man who takes a knee because he's fighting for a country in which he believes—but it's diseased, it's becoming an Idiocracy. It's something I hoped I'd never see, but now I'm faced with people who think they're above other human beings.

We're supposed to work together. Supposed to be an indestructible force, a kingdom of love and war against the force of evil but this society has me conditioned to mistrust even the man that I sleep with. I feel broken, I feel betrayed, like my own home has spit in my face and told me I don't matter, I can't stay. I'm just a head case with some issues, and really I just need to learn my place.

My place is here, beating my fists at the glass shaking with the blood on my hands swearing that we will make it past this. Hold my hand, bind my wrists, however you want to paint me, take your pick because I'll never be done fighting. I'm not going to quit, I'm speaking for the voiceless, the sick, and the empty—for the women who have given all their years and don't have many left. I hope they see me and know they didn't give it all for nothing. That's all we are asking you for. Show us this isn't all for nothing.

Please, just one thing. Just give us something.