(I considered starting this letter with “Dear Subway Harassers,” but that was much too kind for the kind of shit you pull day in and day out. Last week I put out a letter to vulnerable subway riders and as I published it on my blog I had the realization that I was doing it again, I was putting the onus on the survivors instead of going to the source. Well, no more. So, subway harassers, listen up…..)
What the fuck is your problem? What makes you think that it is okay to put your hand on me? That it is okay to corner me against a partition and rub against me? That there is nothing wrong with pulling out your dick and rubbing one out to me?
My mama always taught me to take the high road and to try to be understanding and be empathetic, but I just cannot do that right now. You are a sick, disgusting little fuck and you need to get your shit straightened out. I would love to be able to straighten it all out by chopping it all off, but I only wear orange when I am visiting my Alma Mater.
You are sneaky and gross. You make nice people like me question whether or not we are actually being harassed or if we are just reading too far into an accidental situation. You are the reason why women are nervous and anxious to get on the train. You are twisted and mean and wrong. You get high off the power trip from making people weaker than you scared. Well, guess what. That shit is no longer copacetic and we are taking back not only our bodies, but the public space.
So listen up. My body. My space. My autonomy. Back the fuck up. Back the fuck off. If you wanna rub one out, do it at home. You wanna talk to me? Too fucking bad. You wanna touch me? I don’t think so. Respect boundaries. Be a decent person for once in your life.
Go fuck yourself.