While you were sleeping

another woman reclaimed her body.

While you were sleeping, another man treated a woman like something he wiped off his shoe.

While you were sleeping, a 35 year-old woman lived in a housing association bungalow when she should live in a palace, because a man decided his desires were more important than not raping a child.

While you were sleeping, women's bodies were mutilated, maimed, stretched, contracted, hidden, exposed, celebrated, loved, desired, pleasured and hopefully somewhere, some women got some fucking sleep too.

Are you sleeping? Good.

Are you sleeping comfortably? Then you live in a rich, beautiful world indeed. A blessed world. One much like mine.

How much sleep do you think a woman who was raped as a child loses, on average?
Five hundred thousand hours?
A fucking lifetime's worth?

While you were sleeping, indignities beyond your wildest dreams were visited upon the bodies of those who dared not to fit in, who dared to not have breasts or bottoms or vaginas or vulvas or labia or clitorises that looked like someone thought they should look.

While you were sleeping, violence beyond your most terrible nightmares were visited upon women, children, men, non binary folk, trans women, trans men, and everyone in between.

So where were you?
If you were sleeping, count yourself so fucking lucky.

And then say it with me. NOT IN MY NAME.
Not while there's still breath in this body.
I believe women. I trust women. I believe children who say they were violated. I believe women who say it. I believe girls who say it. I believe boys, and anyone else who wants to come to me and who needs their story shouting from the rooftops because I am a writer and I have that platform and I will TELL. THAT. STORY.

Keep telling me. Never stop telling me.