2016.06.10
The right to power walk down this country road belongs to me.
The right to wear workout clothes in June belongs to me.
The right to possess this strong body belongs to me.
The right to drive your pickup truck down this country road belongs to you.
The right to have views that oppose mine belongs to you.
You do not have the right to slow down your pickup truck to a crawl, to lean the upper half of your body out your window, to stare at my breasts and to then salute me as your tongue hangs out and you pant.
It’s men like you who, when I was only nine years old, started ogling my already blossoming body while licking their lips or rubbing their hands together that caused me to hide under baggy clothes and become a wallflower.
No more!
What you don’t know is that both my dead grandmothers were flanking me on this walk. Five minutes before you appeared they showed me your truck; they warned me that you were coming. They told me to just keep walking and promised to protect me. They told me that you if stopped that pickup and got out they would kill you. (They can do that because they don’t have to be concerned with karma anymore.) You have no idea how lucky you are that you stayed in your truck and kept moving, albeit at a snail’s pace, so all you got, as you continued to leer from your rearview mirror, was the image of me throwing my arms in the air, hoping that you felt the disgust that my entire being radiated. You must have because you sped away, finally.
You missed me bowing to the divine in you while also cursing your evil with both middle fingers extended as I screamed,
Namaste, you fucking miscreant!!!
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