It happened in '94.
I told my father in '98.
He said, "How can you be so sure?
You could just be mistaking some face."
25 years later, I'm greeted with, "What were you waiting for?
What, do you want a medal?
Odds are you looked like some whore.
Just another woman whose career went fatal."
I'm called a witch
For calling out for help from a white man
Because I'm just some little bitch
Whose to blame for his cis white hand.
I keep his name anonymous.
I'm not asking for a fight ma'am.
"What do you get from this?
I guess you didn't fuck the right man."
"So what, he touched you.
What's the big deal?"
It's something I'm tired of trying to conceal.
It could have been your mother, your brother, your sister, or tu.
Yet, you think it's got nothing to do with you.
I didn't do this out of jealousy,
I didn't do this out of greed.
I did it for those whose stories aren't seen on TV,
For those who continue to be unheard, unseen.
Women and Men,
Humans, aren't property for which it is claimed.
Stop smiling, don't grin,
We didn't ask for it because of some said 'fame.'
I did this for me,
For you,
For we,
For tu.
Your actions haunt our past.
There's no going back
That's why we, women, all dress in black.
So before you throw a fit
And blame us for losing your job,
Think long and hard on our dignity you decided to rob.
We will only say this once:
We aren't some whore,
We aren't some bitch,
We're just healing the sore
You decided to itch.
We're apart of the movement, Me Too,
To aware the nation of people like you.
