I wonder about men, and their lives away from women, and their societies that we are not allowed in;
do you text each other “are you home safe” at the end of the night? do you only go out in pairs, arms linked, a promise to make sure that you are both safe. do you have to drink before each party because every offered cup is a looming threat. do you escape to bathrooms to whisper sharp warnings about a girl’s previous relations.
when the morning comes do you talk about what he did with a hurried, excited voice; mock-appalled at his scandalous behavior. do you ask him about it, do you sit for hours picking apart her text messages and what she meant when she didn’t call until long after ten.
when you go into your man-caves, man-room, man-hole; do you talk about women carefully, respectfully, with constant forgiveness – do you let your friends say things you pretend you don’t agree with? when we aren’t around, do you defend us? do you let him call names from his window, do you slide his eyes off his mistress, do you chuckle and sip beers and try not to think you’re one of them?
what do you do in the quiet moments where women are screaming? do you turn your head from the bad things? do you forward the video on krav maga to your sister, do you stand between strangers? when she says her boyfriend – your friend – is an abuser, do you believe her, or him? do you look at the bruises and say she must have done something wrong to get this from him? when you know in your heart of hearts he is not good to women, do you do something?
when you walk home do you keep keys in your fist. do you dress specifically in the hopes you won’t get attacked if it’s too close of a fit. do you avoid enclosed spaces, do you constantly scan for threats. do you flick the news off, knowing they won’t be talking about whether or not your body is punishable under the law. do you worry about the one in four of your sisters who will be raped, or is it a small fact, a kidney stone only, annoying but survivable. do you say rape culture isn’t a thing, laughing; do you make sure your daughters don’t go outside in flattering dresses for the same reasons you refused to admit exist. do you promise you’re a feminist, stop there, not worry about the intersectionalist portion of it. do you need to worry about it? are you doing good enough just identifying by it?
and men, what happens to your heart when you cannot hug another. what happens when you want to love but your father’s voice is in your head like a wall of thunder. what happens when your passions are in things traditionally feminine. who tells you it’s okay and that you’re still a man. do you push down the tears because it’s easier or because it’s harder? when she cries, do you feel jealous of her?
men, in the lives so public; always flashing in tv, bulky, lean. men with their opinions and their secrets. but what is it, to be free like that, to be unworried, to never watch a tongue when it starts walking. are you happy? do you fear marrying someone who will emotionally detach three years in, who will spend her life hidden from you, drinking. do you fear lonely nights where all she wants is a hushed thing and then to bed, before you are crying. do you fear travelling alone, do you fear a room full of women? do you fear anything?
what is it like in there? What are men when no one is looking?
r.i.d (via inkskinned)