street harassment
Learn more about other poetry terms
the first time i was cat called was with my now ex and i was just wearing shorts and a graphic tee
they honked at up and said some suggestive comment that i didnt catch
I WAS 12 YEARS OLD
“You owe it to me”
He says, with a genuine tone
“Come with me girl
Keep me company
Don’t you leave me all alone”
“No”
I was twelve and rebellious,
far from God and home at curfew,
and my mother worried.
Of course, the logical way for any modern mother to solve her daughter's issues-
I am not your baby
You did not give me life
I was never your joy
I was never your pride
I am not a dog
I don’t respond to whistles
And shouting, “Aye Shawty”
Will only result in dismissal
The Irony in Having the Name “Hope”
H.C.
My name is Hope and I may be white
But that does not mean that I am blind
To the violence
To the discrimination
As I walk by, I feel as I want to squeal
Their harsh starting, harsh words, harsh motions towards me
"Hey baby", whistling, their disgusting ways
Always I want to ignore them
Always I walk faster, to try and escape
"You see I'm different,"
She said, "because
I'm just like the rest
As I walked down the street
They yell and they holler
Even as I turn and hide my breasts
At the bank she said
I want to say every word Ive ever seen sprawled on a locker.
I want to punch a hole in your face with the butt of my sword but It's only a pen and we both know it.
I begin with a universal statement: Growing up sucks.
being caught in the in between sucks in a lot of ways,
and everyone has dipped their toe in the primordial pool of puberty
A girl on the cusp of womanhood
With feminine features and curves
Begins to despise what she's praised for
Listen,
I tell the tale
Of my pain
Of their pain
Do you hear them?
The collective despair
Shared by every woman who is forced
To witness their culture stripped
Only to be sold
