The Only Way to Be Safe

dear grandpa,
you tell me to be safe at parties,
not take a drink from anyone.
i listen and nod,
i have been trained for this situation.

every red solo cup drink slips between my lips,
cool liquid pouring down,
trusting doe eyes flashed at the next guy,
he brings me another and winks.
i accept silently knowing i should be careful but
i say nothing.
not wanting to be the buzzkill.
don't want to become That Girl.

That Girl that keeps her words as weapons,
resting bitch face as protection.

she is the buzzkill, the feminist.
she keeps her armour of sharp looks and lip smacks,
yet she shakes just like me, scared of Him.

the constant glaring fear of Him chasing me down,
grabbing me from behind, lifting up my skirt.
my momma told me skirts have to be knee length,
but the boys say dress slutty for the party and
i  agree.

i quietly sneak out in my
lipstick smile, short skirt,
wild.
im running down the street and i laugh.
but every dark shadow causes me to shake,
knowing he is lurking behind every corner.
i laugh at the anal joke the guy next to me makes,
yes means no but,
when i walk home i keep my finger on the call button,
even when its not dark out.

my mom and i look up the age
for carrying pepper spray after he came up to me and told me
he wanted to fuck me.
my dad finds out and tells me that i shouldn't be walking around looking like that.
sat in the station i tell the policeman what he said
he looks me up and down, smirks and says "you don't look 16 to me".

violence is everywhere yet,
my therapist wonders why i shake.
so grandpa i ask you,
why should i be silent, why should i be worried about what im wearing, why should i be scared of being That Girl and
you softly answer "it's the only way to be safe"