Hi, it’s me. I’m the girl you stare at while walking down the street, or worse when you call me names or whistle or make some comment about my “nice ass”. Yea, you probably don’t remember me specifically through the hundreds of other girls you say the same remarks to throughout the day, but I remember you. Just like all the other girls will remember you too.

I’m sure that makes you feel great that I remember you. I remember the way your eyes traveled down my body while I tried to keep my head down. I remember hearing your voice through the music that I have blaring in my ears while I tried to tune out your comments. I remember the feeling of fear that you wouldn’t stop at comments and you would touch me or grab me. I remember the feeling of the cold metal in my fist as I wonder if today would be the day that I would use my pepper spray for the first time.

Yea, I’m sure knowing that would make you feel amazing inside.

I’m not one to usually use the whole “What if it was your mother/sister/daughter/aunt/grandmother/cousin/etc.” argument because I believe that you shouldn’t have to have a special woman in your life to not treat other woman like a piece of meat, but I guess sometimes you have make it more relatable to make you realize these things. What would you do if you were walking down the street with your sister and someone called her a “hot piece of ass”? You would be mad, right? You would be angered that someone treated someone you love like that.

Now what makes it different when you say this to another woman? Another woman who is someone else’s loved one?

I wish I could make you see the way this hurts woman. The way every comment makes them feel like someone just dropped a rock in their stomach. You don’t know that this is why some woman feel like all they are is a piece of meat waiting to be devoured by every man who looks our way.

I wish that I didn’t have to be afraid of you. I wish I felt safe walking around at night. I wish I knew what to wear to make you not stare at me but I’ve learned that I could be wearing pajamas and glasses or a dress and heels and be stared at the same. Either way, I am scared.

I wish that you would stop, but I know you won’t because we live in a society where your actions result in no consequences so you will never see yourself in the wrong. Instead, if I respond to your actions with harsh words or a middle finger in an attempt to stand up for myself, I will be in the wrong because I should just quietly take it. But I won’t do that anymore. Which is why I am writing this letter. I am tired of being quiet. I am tired of being called "baby", "hottie", your "prize", someone to yell "damn" at, "beautiful", "mami", and the list goes on and on. I can't handle it anymore.

I think the worst thing is that I know you will never read this. You will never know how you make me feel. You will never read this because you don’t see yourself as a cat-caller, you just think you are entitled to make your opinion known. But maybe another girl will see this and will know she isn’t alone and that she is more than the comments made about her on the street. I can only hope that maybe one day you will stop.

Until then, I will keep walking with my guard up and my music playing as I try to block out your words.

With hope,

The girl with her head down