I claim the label “feminist” proudly.
I do, because when I was 5 I wanted to be a cheerleader when I grew up. Because even then I thought beauty was above all and that was what ‘all’ girls wanted.
Because when I was 7, “You’re such a girl” was an insult.
Because when I was 10, my younger cousin dared me to flash my boobs.
Because when I was 12, I caught my older cousin staring at my ass.
Because when I was 13, that same cousin molested me in front of my family.
Because every time I tried to speak, he pinched me harder.
Because my family didn’t notice.
Because when I was in eighth grade walking down the street on a hot day in the suburbs, an asshole driving a car screamed at me “HAY BABY, WHATS UP” and stuck his head out the window.
Because I took it as a compliment.
I am a feminist because I hate wondering if I have enough clothes on when I leave the house.
Because I’m only 15.