Untitled poem

"It's a game," he told me. "Do not you want to play?"

It was too big and I vomited on it.

He told me I would do better next time.

At seven, a boy in my class tried to kiss me

while the others encouraged him.

He hugged me from behind, laughing.

I threw sand in his eyes and found myself at the principal's.

At age eight, the teacher asked me to stay after class.

He carried me on his shoulders and told me that I was pretty.

"Oh, the pampered!" shouted my friends, eyes full of jealousy.

They ignored me in the canteen that day.

At age nine, an older girl asked me to lift my skirt for her on the bus.

She was pretty and kind, and she told me that if I wanted to be her friend,

I had to do what she asked me.

I wanted to be his friend.

At ten years old, someone from my family asked me to kiss him every time he came.

He was fat and spoke loudly, and I was hiding under my bed

when I learned that he was going to visit us.

I was taken for a rude child.

At eleven, the guy from the garage said we would not go

only if I gave him a hug every day.

He smelled of cheap soap and cigarettes.

At twelve, I saw a man put his hand on my mother's chest

as we walked down the street.

She slapped him. Passers-by shouted at her to calm down.

She did not calm down.

When I was thirteen, when I came out of a restaurant, I saw a man

who was approaching me while masturbating.

When he met me, he gave me a salacious nod.

With my friends, we looked away, horrified.

At fourteen, a young man in a beautiful car followed me to my home while I returned from my evening class.

I ignored his offer to accompany me and I panicked when he got out of his car.

He bought me a box of chocolates that I refused. He parked at the end of my street and stayed there for an hour.

"It makes me horny to see you're scared."

At fifteen, I was fiddled with on the bus. I was so ashamed that I confided in a friend.

He got angry because he could not believe I did not scream at the guy to stop. I whispered that I was scared and that I was alone but he continued to shout at me without listening to me. In his eyes, my passivity and silence explained why these things were still happening. He did not wait to know my answer.

At sixteen, I discovered that Messenger had an "Other" folder where messages from strangers were automatically stored.

Out of curiosity, I opened the file and found many messages from men I had never seen before.

They made me advances, told me that I was sexy, asked me undressed pictures and insulted me.

Delete messages.

At seventeen, I called for help when a drunk guy sexually assaulted me on a busy street.

It seemed to me that people around me were speeding up.

At eighteen, I was told that sexism no longer exists in modern societies.

That the harassment was not as bad as the women said.

That I had to pay attention to the way I dressed.

Even though I was six years old and wearing pink pajamas.

That I had to make my voice heard.

But not too much, because a girl must be well brought up.

That I should not hesitate to ask for help.

But without exaggerating either.

That I had to stay home at night because it's dangerous to go out at night.

That aggression in broad daylight does not exist.

That I always had to move with at least two boys.

That I needed to be protected.

That being a girl is not so hard as one claims.

Today, I'm nineteen years old.

Today, I am tired.