Brooke

I don't want the: Jesus Christ I was just complimenting you. Fuck, women are so fucking sensitive these days. Oh good, now what. You'll call the cops? Fine! Ha! See if I ever say anything nice to you ever again. Fucking bitch. So fucking entitled. I'm going to make you regret this in the end.

I am tired, and just trying to go home, and I don't want it to be while followed. I don't want it to be under shouting and screaming and distinct threats. I soft-no like a dancing puppet: half-smile, say "maybe", offer lies and excuses and "sorry!" Like I am sorting out change from my wallet: here, if I give you this 50, will you please not stab me? Here, if I laugh weakly, will you not attack me?

Women are told: just say no! As if we live on a different planet. Everyone knows "no means make them say yes". "No" means he might kill you and then in the morning people will look at your headline and say: well she deserved it for giving him such a terrible rejection. "No" means fired without severance pay. "No" means walking home alone keys clutched in your fist with your throat closed swallowing tears because behind you in a chorus are a bunch of drunken frat boys five years your younger all slinging slurs at you in little wasp nests and you might be a young professional woman with her own life and a dog and closet with your first pantsuit and matching jacket but right then all you are to them is a target.

"No" is for my good days, when I'm a good feminist, when I have the time and the space and the patience, when i have the sense of safety, "no" it's not for bosses or for strangers on the street or for the tired days when I just want this guy to stop hitting on me.

Typewriter Series #2791 by Tyler Knott Gregson

*Podcast is still up and running and needing your ears!  Click the linkthing in my bio or search Chasers of the Light Podcast on Spotify or iTunes and subscribe!  I’ll love you for-ev-er.*

Hear me, mark these words as truth, you, all of you, you broken bastards, you forlorn lovers, you who sail seas on ships that you know will sink, you who wait for midnight to finally stop squinting, you who give until empty, and then scream out that there’s still more for the taking, for all those that know only taking.   Listen you, you fractured lot, you who wish for disease, for a distracted bus driver on a busy street, you who want to give up but don’t know the ways to, you who do, but stay anyway, Listen, hear me and believe.   Lean in, trust me, you soul sick and worn out wanderers, you shivering birds, wings quiet for too long, looking for love and hands to hold you and something beyond this single serving sex as a transaction society, open your ears to me, hear this whisper and repeat it like a scream

you are loved, you are loved, you are loved.  

Something bigger than this is waiting for you to find it.