I never ran or even moved from my place.
I remember really well,
When I’d run up the stairs,
Or run in Agamy market.

That day, I was already a little upset.
As I was walking past a coffee shop, a guy riding a bike suddenly rammed into me, on purpose.
None of the men sitting at the coffee shop said anything.

You mean to tell me if a woman has acid thrown on her in the street and her face is disfigured, then so long as her organs are still functioning, the charge will still be ‘physical assault of a woman?’”

We might see things differently,
But the guy on the outside sees my sister, my mother, and my fiance as mere “females”.
A body, a hole to fill, a corpse, a mattress,
A ride, a bang, a screw, a fuck,
A piece of meat everyone wants to tear into with their teeth

My sister was walking down the street,
And a guy was following her.
He kept catcalling her.
She was minding her own business.

I could never forget,
How in the midst of the screams, beatings, killing,
The fires and tear gas in Tahrir,
I felt your hand violating me.

I was walking down a street with two friends of mine, and a man kept following us, saying,
“I want to fuck you” and do so and so to you. The kind of talk everyone’s familiar with.
One of my friends stopped walking and cussed him out.
gender violence, harassment, social stigma, the street

“Hajj, where do you want to go?
I’ll take you.”
“Help me cross the street,
To my house.”
“What’s your name?”
I told him my name.
“What’s your father’s name?”
“Why do you ask?”
“Are you not Muslim?”

I was 14, and I was walking down the street.
It was a Thursday night and the streets were busy,
And no one was paying attention to anyone.
I was crossing the street,
And someone who was passing besides me on a motorcycle,
Touched my ass.
gender violence, sexual violence, harassment, the street

Walk like a soldier.
Don’t you know how soldiers walk?
Eyes straight.
Back straight.
No swaying.