Tick

We express our anger

At all the things that live under our skin.

There are shouts and comments to friends

Of irritation we can never pin.

Road rage is a common place

For my anger to be seen.

Or when people wear tappers as jewelry

(I’d rip them out but that’s a little mean.)

But these things are small, petty.

They don’t matter on a larger scale.

The ones of importance are harder to ignore

Attempts to rid the world of them fail.

There is little I hate more

Than when people brush off rape.

“That’s just high school.”

And thus the victim’s guilt takes shape.

There is no ‘just’ about

The violation of someone’s being

Your body is your own

A respect we should all be seeing.

There is no ‘just’ about the self hate

It isn’t ever pretty.

The victim has been through enough

To make them feel worse is just plain shitty.

Asking for it, drunk, and boys will be boys

These are the ‘excuses that I hear.

But if it was your sister, daughter, or mother

And you could feel their fear?

So remember they are someone’s.

Someone’s daughter, someone’s sister, someone’s mother one day

And before you open your mouth with pathetic excuses

If they had been your anything, what would you say?

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