i don’t remember the time i learned i am in danger. it was a fact of life. night is dark, and at any second a man could decide i am his to take. 

i don’t remember where i learned basic survival skills. they’ve been facts of life. i have to pay taxes, and i need to check under my car and the backseats before i leave. i have to take exams, and my elbows are strong and i should aim for the throat or jaw. i have to wake up in the morning, and i need to be vigilant to make sure im not being followed, and if i am, i shouldn’t go home. the ocean is deep, and if i get food delivered, i should casually mention to the deliverer that i have friends over, and if im travelling, i should tell people im visiting my brother, or im going to meet my father, and the sun is bright. i should place men’s shoes outside my front door. water is wet. i should piss myself and hope it disgusts him. 

a fact of life. compasses point north, and i can’t play with the boys, because equal rights mean equal fights, and they get to hit me if i am their equal, but there’s no way to tell them that i don’t want to hit me because i am a girl— i don’t want to hit me because it’s mean. i cannot tell them that because they will not hear me over their own laughter. 

it is a fact of life. hot and cold are opposites, and he is mean because he likes me. he hurts me because he cares, because he thinks i’m pretty. and now i can be ready for when my boyfriend slams doors so hard it scares me and when he threatens me with physical violence, when he raises his hand so fast it blurs in my vision— i will know it’s because he likes me. 

dogs bark, and cats meow, and i exist for the taking. a fact of life. he is stronger than me, and he will get what he wants, not because i will give it to him, but because he will take it if i do not. 

existence is voyeuristic. i will be seen, there is no choice in the matter. i might as well perform. a fact of life. ice melts. there are eyes on me no matter where i am. the sun sets. i will be seen. my life is covered cups at crowded clubs, silent headphones, and polite smiles in the face of discomfort. my life is expectation and punishment, performance and judgement, overviligance and self-defence. there is a thin line of what is acceptable, and we are tightrope walkers. there is no net below us. 

it is a fact of life— i am going to die, and i need to be pretty before i do. 

it is a fact of life— if i am to live, i will need to fight for it.