Tag: catcalling

Kittens

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Photo by Oleg Magni from Pexels

Someone pointed it out passing by and I cannot shake the disgust

Of what the men following my scared scent were dying to discuss.

Oh, is the skirt too short and buttons too loose for your expensive taste?

“Such a pretty face, too bad all that make up and attitude makes it a waste.”

It’s not the first time this week I’m hearing this centuries old, morbid story,

And I’m not in my teens so I should take it easy and perhaps, just maybe, be sorry?

What a compliment though, their eyes and cars keep following wherever you go

Hence it shouldn’t be a problem, and even if it was – how would you know?

“You’re a lady after all, stop acting like you don’t enjoy being approached

With a bit of flirt, even if it’s scaring you – don’t yell, don’t bring the reproach.”

Keep your mind open if it’s disturbing, some kittens will be drowned in the making

But you can only change culture of power plays and toxic overtaking

If you don’t confuse it with innocent romance-baiting.

Berate all you want, but it’s still your beasts who deserve crating.

-JW

“Hard To Work With”

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Photo by Catherine from Pexels

Always threatened to meet my maker if I disobey –

If my smile isn’t wide enough, I have to pay.

If my sleeves are too short, I become the prey.

The world must be someone else’s oyster because to me

It’s another circle in a groundhog day.

Always scared to be left scarred or for the dead –

If I ever talk back, they might crush my head.

If I have some pride, they call me featherbed.

But they can’t stop, I need to be taught a lesson

No matter how much I’ve already bled.

Always scrutinized for not being cautious all the way –

If you get annoyed by my attitude, I don’t get a say.

If you think I’m pretty, I must keep your affection at bay.

And I pray, and I pray, and I pray that there comes a time

Where my experience is not underplayed

So I don’t have to put “hard to work with” on my resume.

-JW

Catwalk

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Photo by Mike Chai

Lying on the floor between pages filled with pen scratches,

Trying to find one as blank as my stare, one that matches

My vision of a perfect day – not touched by an unwelcomed gaze.

But I know you are watching. If the story of my life was a contest

You would get the first place.

Walking through allies during tasteless springs, buried in pollen.

The weather is crisp, yet my feet feel heavy and lungs are swollen

To the size of an iron maiden. It is pressing down on my chest.

A heavy sensation hits – deleting myself from the narrative is

The only way to get rest.

Standing still in the middle of an always running city mob,

Checking my sanity, looking for signs that others also get robbed

Of time and dignity – while you peek away with your grueling precision.

I even wonder whether these stares only live inside of my head…

What a joyless derision.

Running up the stairwell, haunted by the words from the worst of humanity.

Gravity is drying my tears but it does not silence my profanities

As I curse every single stranger that said – my story is not a safe place to exist.

They can look all they want, browse and lurk as they please, but I promise –

At the end of the day, you will get what you do not desist.

-JW