For women , the female experience of normalising victimisation often begins this young . So it is for men , that I now address this letter .
For The fathers , the sons , the police , the pastors , the painters
the builders who whistle on the sidewalks , the teachers who tell you your skirt is too short , the teachers who look at your skirt to begin with , the bouncers , the bartenders who tell you to cover your drink , the lads in nightclubs with rohypnol in their pockets , the lads in gangs who think its powerful when they hit a woman , the little boys who think they ’ re cool , the little boys whose mothers are at home making their teas , the little boy you walk past on the street , the little boy with a knife in his jeans , the security guard outside maccies who calls you a drunk slut , the housemate who defends you and says ‘ oi , she ’ s not a slut ’, the housemate who instead of going to his bed came to yours , the housemate who was too drunk to remember you saying no , the housemate who in the morning acted as if it didn ’ t happen , the students , the minors , the men twice your age , the fiancés , the husbands , the husbands whose football team lost on the telly , the kids who mimic their father ’ s rage because that black player missed the penalty , it ’ s his race ’ s fault , it ’ s your fault , it ’ s your fault his tea is too fucking cold , the postmen who believe it was the cupboard you walked into , the nurses who believe that fall in the kitchen is what bruised your wrists like that , the