inkskinned:

at 13 we are already held responsible. if our shoulders show in school, we are sent home on behalf of the boys who are distracted. we grow up like this. by 16 it’s your fault if you wear the wrong skirt, drink too much, make a mistake, what did you think was going to happen. you are responsible for not screaming, for being too much of a tease, for trusting the wrong person. it’s your job to carry the baby to term, to mother it, to suffer for nine months for something someone else absolutely did. but you got yourself pregnant. 

but men. god, it must be nice. nothing sticks to you, does it. when men do terrible things, you shrug your shoulders i’m one of the good ones, though, not all of us are like this. and you can say that because men is a big broad term and it’s unfair to use a brush under which a whole gender might be painted. women are liars, though. women just want attention. women make it up and try to ruin lives and are hysterical and never think about the consequences of their harsh language. and you all can look at each other and know you’re one of the good ones, even if you’re just mediocre, because you don’t think you’ve ever, you know, done something that bad. and it’s fine you’re still friends with that guy you know did do something that bad, but you weren’t at the party she says he raped her at (but you remember his snapchat), but it’s not like you’re him, and besides, it was a year ago and everybody lived. and it’s not your fault, and it’s probably just a misunderstanding, and you’d never say something like “women are whores” but you’d smile, wouldn’t you, and you’d nod because it’s a joke, come on. and it’s a joke, come on.

and when it’s your fault – and god! is it ever? – there’s always an excuse. you were drunk a little bit too. you didn’t know better. you were too young, making a boyish mistake. you were too old, from a different generation, you only know how to treat women in that way. you were angry, you were just fooling around, you were a good guy, not like one of the bad ones, you know, the black men or the brown men or the muslim men or the real problems with this country, amen. you’re a good upstanding citizen, and what, are we going to ruin your life with this simple accusation? no, we’re not, because you aren’t any of those things (if you were, huh, you’d be dead, you’d be shot by a cop or dragged in the street or lynched or kicked out of housing or in jail for weed or a million other things). you’re just a good guy who is being lumped in with the others because women, women are vindictive.

you spend three beautiful months in jail. or one. or a week. or you’re told by a judge the official ruling is no sex until marriage. or buckle down next time and really try harder for your swim team. and this is heartbreaking, god, you cry next to your lawyer while you are found actually guilty with no time served. does she even know the kind of stress you are under. how sad you are. how dare she look at you and ask you to take responsibility. you’re not a monster.

but god forbid you have a uterus and don’t want something growing in it. the judge looks at you from over where he sits. you’re 17 and an immigrant. and you’re going to carry that baby to term because he thinks you’re old enough to have good judgement.

it’s your fault. your responsibility. well, you should have thought about it.