What I'm Wearing

Just what I end up thinking after I get catcalled outside of my therapists office.

* This is not at all directed to all men but kind of a rant on the culture that raises men to believe that certain actions are okay.

It ends with the deep voice

Booming

About fragility

Your shoes are bright you think

Not daring to look up

To the teeth gnashing around

The weakness of women

 

It starts with the soft voice

Cooing

To his baby girl

About coming home before dark

Watching your drink

The length of your skirt

The cut of your shirt

The harshness of men

 

Women, I think, envy

How most men brush off words

Mean, or condescending or cruel

From their shoulders

Whereas, in the curve of ours

Lies every insult, in a pool

Between bone and skin

 

It’s morning with the sun barely out

And a warm mug, full of

Lipstick stains and caffeine
Drawing a satisfied curve of your lips

Until a finger on your back

Scrapes your skin, dragging a slip

Of fabric back up your shoulder

The never ending

Embarrassment over a bra strap

 

 

We deserve the comments we get?

 

Come close

Dear man

Until my lips are by your ear

And my lipstick rubs against your collar

Let me tell you what I’m wearing

 

The secrets I hold

Within the space between my breasts

And the gap in my thighs

The words that live under my tongue

And flutter my eyelids

 

Wait

 

Until I get close enough

To tell you what I’m wearing

Lace underwear, because I’m a woman

Because it’s taught to me

From ads and men

That my body is a sexual thing

That my flesh isn’t just flesh

It’s a form of pleasure, but not for me

 

I’m wearing a bra that’s conservative enough

For my grandmother

Because, my body is sexual

And I cannot reveal

For I would be asking for it

 

I am wearing the lipstick my mother gave me

Told me not to wear to certain places

I am wearing heels high enough

That I couldn’t run very far

But they make my ass look good

And would pierce your pupil just as quick

As you whistle

 

I am adorned with

Keys between my fingers

Cursing the illegality of

Pepper spray

And concealing small knives

In a silver clutch

 

Come at me

 

I am wearing everything

I learned today

And every media

That told me breastfeeding

Is too sexy for public

And school girls

Are to be porn fantasies

 

I’ve got ads tattooed on my thighs

Telling me that men are to get between them

Not too many, not too little

 

And never a woman

Unless it’s for a man’s

Voyeuristic pleasure and

Fetishization of a taboo fantasy

 

Let me hold my breasts and cleavage

Under your chin

And tell you the science

Behind the sacs of flesh

That turn you on

 

But,

Dear Sir:

Most of all

Allow me to kiss you

Feel my touch

Hear my breath

 

The human connection

Between us is not for loss

Learn that my body is not sex

My walk is not a call to the wolves

My skin is not a Welcome sign

The length of my skirt does not

Dictate the switch of a neon Open flash

 

Do this not for your daughter

Your sister, your mother

Allow yourself to grow

Truly hear me

 

And even if you do not listen

You will know what the girl

Standing on the street corner is thinking

As you drive by complimenting her

You’ll understand the fear in a 14 year olds eyes

When she feels a man’s hand on her shoulder

As he asks for her name

 

In That

Booming

Voice 

The End

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