Dear men, I don’t believe that you are the epitome of evil. But I wish vision wouldn’t sharpen in that particular way when you enter a space. I wish I wouldn’t get nervous that you got up just after my friend and followed in the same general direction as she left for the bathroom and its been more than a few minutes since she left. I wish you wouldn’t barge in on our conversations and shove your commands on us, and got mad as if we were rude to not see you, do what we were told, and then leave us feeling once again: uncomfortable and harassed.
Dear men, I wish it wasn’t like this. I wish the comedians weren’t right and when I tell you I study about the inequality in society you wouldn’t roll your eyes and give me your oh so welcome cynic opinion and as „so is all you do about gendering “ after we tell you how to address us properly, and then say you know ALL about the university course I take. I wish my body could just be my body and I wouldn’t feel dirty after you looking at it. I wish I wouldn’t have to take your bullshit serious every time I step out the door.
Lea Monstera 