“How many men have walked to their cars holding their keys like spikes between each knuckle? How many have stared into the faces of those they pass, willing themselves to memorize facial features in the event that they find themselves sitting across from a sketch-artist, drinking bad coffee, shaking, and explaining the bump of a nose or the curve of a chin? How many are made to feel like it is their job to catalog the shape of victimization, prove their pain, and alter their mental state to accommodate it? For how many men is this perversion their only expectation of normalcy?”
— essence of my conversation with a dear friend over coffee. (via missl0nelyhearts)
(via yochlochlo)
