Don’t tell me, my hair was tied in a way that provoked you to touch it as you pleased.
Don’t tell me, what I wore, me wearing my skin, provoked you to touch me.
Don’t tell me, that my silence yet shocked expression was my saying ” oh, yes please,” to your deeds.
Don’t tell me, that what you did was not harassment because you insolent fool, never did I consent to it.
I don’t have to say no for you to not touch me.
My body isn’t a display glass for you to touch it and neither do I need to hang a sign that says “Don’t Touch“ in bold red so that you won’t. The word “no“ isn’t a stop sign, nor not saying it at all, means hit the gas.
I shouldn’t be standing up for what’s right and what’s wrong, but look at me, I still am. All I hope is that one day, your sister won’t ever be wronged by some stranger, the way you have wronged me.