Call me at 4 am, and tell me it’s because you want to hear my voice.
Look at me and tell me you don’t feel anything. See me smiling and tell me it doesn’t hurt. Know I’m not writing about you and tell me you’re still the same person you were a moment ago. Go ahead. You can tell me what you want because I’ll know what you mean. That’s the thing about a person who used to love you. They get in your head, take off their shoes and get comfortable. Tell me you don’t miss me. You do.
Even if you know what’s coming, you’re never prepared for how it feels.
When I was 12 boys slid their hand up my thigh and slapped my butt. I smiled and took it because I didn’t know it was okay to say stop. I didn’t know that I could say no. So, when the principal calls telling me my daughter is suspended for punching a boy who wouldn’t stop touching her, I will cook her favorite meals. When she tells me how she cursed at the boy who wouldn’t move his hands off her knee even though she asked him to, I will smile and pull out her favorite movie to watch together. I will celebrate the fact that she accepts her body as her own and knows she has the right to say no. I never want my daughter to think her body belongs to men, because it is her own and my god should she be proud. I will teach her it’s more than okay to say stop, something I wish I had known when I was that age.