‘Real Men Don’t Rape’
I am tired of reading and listening these certain words. I mean what does it mean? If we believe in these words then probably these wordings would be correct too ‘Real Women Do Not Get Raped’. Am i right?
If my getting raped labels me to be filthy and unfit for being a woman, then I am fine with it. It’s my body, it’s my life, it’s my choices and it’s entirely my pain. Rape doesn’t change my vagina into a penis. So why am I not fit for being a woman?
It wasn’t my mistake when my home, my supposed to be safe place is the one where I was robbed off my being. Isn’t it your mistake, the ones who taught me the difference between right and wrong, the difference between a salwaar kameez and shorts, to never have told me that being Home doesn’t mean I am safe, that the ones I believed would protect me are the ones who could kill me too.
You know what I believe?
‘Men Don’t Rape Woman’ these days. The little innocent souls are their new favourites. Am I too rude? Pardon me if I am.
I was born and brought up in a society which taught me my limits before they taught me to dream and achieve, a society which built this image of me before they even let me breathe.
I am a woman. . .
A tired woman of this hungry, ashen heart society. I am tired of being the object of your imagination. Please forgive me, I am just a tiny peculiar piece of body. You the lord, shouldn’t bother to give a second glance or a thought of me.
If my being a woman sends an erotic shiver down your body, then I wouldn’t grow up to become one. But, I would still without doubt become the flesh you would be served for your hunger seems to be blind to my age. For the younger I am, the smaller my vagina and more your pleasure. Isn’t it? It all sums up to your pleasure.
I am an 8 months old girl. I am your sister. I am waiting to tie Rakhi on your wrist for you are the one who would protect me.
Curtain falls. . . Lights switched on. . .
You are the one who Raped me.
I have no breast that I am showing off a little to much. I do not go out at nights so I am not labelling myself as available. I am not drinking out with male guys so I am not a whore.
Enough! I am tired. I’ll just let it be now.
I would no more be careful of what I wear or of the timings, or of giving a wrong idea to you by hanging out with my fellow male friends.
For if they want to rape me, they would rape me in a salwaar kameez, in broad day light, inside my home. So if I am going to be raped anyway, then why live such a suffocating life. . .