To come forward about a sexual assault means to willingly place oneself under one of society’s most unflattering spotlights.
You never chased my mom around the house to tickle her sides or squeeze her in a tight hug. Instead, you chased her into the doorway to pin her wrists and scream in her face.
A little bit after the punching fit ended, he phoned his mother and girlfriend, telling them both that he “did something bad.”
I mean, who wants to believe that A LOT of police officers are cowards and racists? Nobody. Its unfortunate.
You empower yourself and vicariously those who surround you by the light that shines within you. It’s contagious.
Terrorism itself is its own religion — and it is one almost impervious to logic or persuasion.
Why the hate? Why?
Dear God, I am afraid.
I see your hashtags and messages of support to those affected, but I don’t applaud them and don’t add one myself. I simply don’t see the point other than to make your online friends know you’re informed and have reacted appropriately. I choose instead to reflect internally and welcome conversation in more intimate parts of my life.
Do I need to have security detail every time I run out to get milk at the corner store for me to know what I’m talking about? Or do I just need protection when I hold hands with, or dare to kiss the man I love in public? Tell me… when will enough be enough?