This poem came from thoughts about the lives of young women, and memories of my life, way back before I stepped right away from that “mating game”. I found the man I trusted enough to want to marry, and we have worked at being married for many, many years now, and still married, 33 years later.
It’s a relief now, to be able to not worry about how things may go after a night out, whether to take the offer of a lift home, hoping it will be safe, or whether the bus might be a better choice, though I’d be later home.
There are rules, but not everyone goes by them and the more alcohol is involved, the less attention is paid to those rules. Going out at night shouldn’t mean anything more than simply wanting to go out at night. And what you wear is your business, and shouldn’t be read as making a statement, not at all.
Women dress up for themselves, for their friends, because it makes a night feel special, and yes, perhaps to attract male attention, but not always. Never assume anything about a women, because all are individuals, and do different things for a variety of different reasons …
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I was out earlier today, so began writing this poem on my mobile phone, then my phone ran out of charge … I’d written enough though, that I had the core of what I wanted to write, so even though I finished the poem just now, many hours after starting it, it still holds to the ideas I wanted to write about.
I am so glad that I no longer have to think about the things in this poem, and I certainly wish no-one at all ever have to think about them, and that going out was safe for everyone. We are a long, long way away from that though …
And though I say I’m glad I no longer have to think about these things, the simple fact of being a woman, being out alone at night could make me a target for abuse from a rapist, it’s a simple, and nasty fact of life. It makes me sick in my mind that it’s so, but I’m intelligent and cluey enough to see the reality of it all.
Sometimes I think gelding all men may be the way to go. Geldings cause far less trouble than stallions … Obviously I don’t actually mean that, but …
Carolyn Cordon - Creative 