Standing in the street
Laughing with a friend
There comes a man
Taking a stand
Lying to us
About being concerned
Only to found out that
He was only concerned about my butt.

Hand so tight and firm
An aggressive grip
Squeezed my butt
That’s how I got harassed
That’s how I became a statistic,
A statistic of all the women
And all the queer folks
Who were sexually harassed by shameless men
Who saw them as nothing
But sexual objects
I stood there and froze
I couldn’t talk
I couldn’t move
I had to process what had happened
I had to process this tragedy
And shy away from feeling my tears
Rolling down my cheeks
I don’t want to be sad
But I have to be strong
Strong for the public
To not see what I just went through
Strong for my family
To not notice a change in my mood
Strong for myself
To not dwell on this ,
But truth is I felt the tight squeeze for days
Even today I still do.

I still smell the scent of his whiskey
And the smell of his clothes
Like his still standing next to me
Scanning my petite body
I do not even want to imagine
What he could have been thinking
Probably he could have done more
Probably I would be having a bigger wound
Probably I would have seen my life coming to an end
Even right now I want to end this conversation
Yes! This is a conversation
So uncomfortable and angering
Though a conversation I have to share

Right now all I want is to disappear.