Triggerville, USA.
One of y'all uncles at Whole Foods had clear intention to touch me until his friend literally stopped him.
Man 1: Hi
Man 2: You cute
Me: Thanks (looks away)
Man 2: No need to verbally thank me. I like to receive my thanks in another way *walks towards me hand out make sexual gestures*.
Me: No. Don't try that shit today or you'll regret it.
He gets within inches of me, hands making a sexual motion when his friend pulls him away.
Because I've been socialized to be kind when men try me- as a survival tool. I said a dry thanks. Do I call the police? Police have been killing Black folks. That ain't something I ever want to see, again. Black men gotta police Black men. It ain't my work- can't be my work.
I don't even have words. Between a Black man arguing that statistically, Breonna Taylor's murder is an outlier, therefore, it need not be mentioned when we discuss George Floyd and this... I'm hurt.
And. I wanted to hurt him. I wanted to physically harm him and that scared me, too. I have been working to be as soft as possible in a world where force and strength are perceived interchangeably.
Truth is, I feel unvalued and unprotected. It's not a feeling I want to get used to.
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