One More Voice is Heard: Me Too, Too
Originally handwritten in diary: November 10 th , 2016/ 11:38pm Typed/Edited for this blog: January 2 0 th , 2018/10:30ish pm I never told my parents, my sister, my ex, or my own diary (until now) about the time I was sexually assaulted. I had been grabbed, groped, assaulted twice on the platform of 42 nd and Times Square before. I remember what I was wearing the first time: a short orange polo-looking tennis skirt with three plastic buttons down the middle and vertical pleats along the bottom; tucked into the skirt, my most-prized worn-out paper-thin black Guns N’ Roses shirt that had the band stenciled in white on the front and their name featured in an orange banner above them. He just slid his hand up that orange skirt I loved to sport and disappeared in the crowd as I spun around to see if anyone else saw what happened to me. I remember standing on the platform full of nameless strangers, watching them blur away, further and further away from me. That was in