When you’re a woman, you notice things.
Trained to perceive our surroundings, we perceive people’s responses to us.
When it’s your turn to cross the street, do you wave at the cars
Letting you pass?
As a woman, you learn to say thank you for things that should be your right.
Are the cars stopping for you?
Or are they stopping for the red light
The crossing guard
If you stood on the side
Waiting to go
Would they let you?
You speed up when you walk past
Shrinking yourself on the sidewalk
Your footsteps fall
The rhythm of fear
A symphony of panic
But you smile
Because what else would you do?
You say excuse me
When someone blocks your path.
You’re the butt of the joke
But you still laugh
You’re deemed “sensitive” if you don’t
But they bruise like stones.
Because discomfort makes you a target.
Do you count the men in the room?
Before you speak
Zip up your jacket
Button your sweater
Watch your words.
You rehearse your tone
Attitude’s a turn off
You smile so they don’t call you cold
You nod, even when you disagree
Because has “no” ever meant stop?
You plan your outfit
Based on the route you’re taking.
You share your location
Before you leave.
Fake phone calls ring through your ears
When the echo of footsteps fall behind you
The stories on the news permeate your mind
But still you wonder,
Are you being too dramatic?
But you’ve been trained
To soften your instincts
Into politeness.
Turn fear to courtesy.
Turn caution to quiet.
When you’re a woman,
you notice things.
And the world
has noticed you back—
since the moment
you learned
to cross the street.
