A photo posted by annabelle (@annabelleblythe) on Jan 21, 2017 at 2:41pm PST

This is for the women
who were too afraid
to cry out,

to pull away
out of fear
of being fired
when their bosses
put their hands under their shirts
whispering into their necks.

This is for the underage girl
trapped inside the apartment,
as the man she grew to trust
blocked the doorway
with his strong shoulders
covered in a $3,000 suit,
his daughters
just down the hallway.

He put the music on
and closed their doors
so no one could hear you yell.

I am sorry.

I am sorry.

I am sorry
on behalf of the men
who are not acting like men at all,
who blame animal instinct
for making the animal in me
want to rip you to shreds
five years later.

But I retract my claws
and will rip you apart
with words, instead.
It’s more permanent this way.

This poem is for the men
who believe it is okay
to touch women they have no right
being near.

My 115-pound body is no match for your weight
and I can do no damage to you,
but for your sake,
for her sake,
for my sake,
god, do I hope you learn
that a woman’s body
is not your territory
just because
you stand
towering
overtop of it.

Author: Annabelle Blythe

Image: Courtesy of author.

Editor: Nicole Cameron