To the 6am Whistler

Wed, 05/23/2018 - 18:04 -- KJRosa

I won’t walk away or look down.

I’m not selfish like those other girls,

I can take a compliment.

How else would I know how good I look.

If you weren’t there who would I smile for?

 

I mean,

Who doesn’t want to wake up at six in the morning just to hear,

 Hey babe wanna ride in my car,

I can take you anywhere.

 

No, man who is three times my age,

Sadly I’m declining your offer, but thank you

For letting me know that I have some thought full dick to come back to.

 

We live in a society where women can be sexualized

But not sexual.

 

Where you can either wear sweat pants and get cat called

Or wear skirts and get cat called.

 

Where a women’s voice is both her weapon

And her death.

 

We first meet the catcall in our early days of middle school,

We wear our uniforms  innocently not knowing that, that’s part of the appeal.

We walk down the street and then there it is,

Beautiful, violent, vulgar.

We become so used to them, that when they stop we become confused.

We begin to wonder what we did wrong,

Am I no longer beautiful,

Am I not woman enough for your calls?

 

We’re told to look down, walk fast, pretend you’re on a phone call.

But we know that never works, so

We talk back,

but never loud enough for them to hear

Because if they do, they’ll stop calling,

And they’ll start following.

That once honking car has now slowed down and sidled up next to you

The man on the bike is now waiting for you down the block

And those teenage boys now have found their opportunity to touch you.

And all you can hear are the whispers of things that you want to forget but can’t.

The whispers of things you were once to young to understand,

But somehow knew how they made you feel,

Small.

 

Small enough that you’d rather spent more time finding a new way home

Than shopping with your mother

 

Because some how you know

 That you won’t be able to wear them anyways.

 

You’ve given the middle finger so many times

That it’s become your second language.

 

Yet somehow you’re still told to shrug it off.

So eventually you learn.

 

Learn that your body is yours to maintain

And theirs to keep.

 

Learn that the skirts you wear are the problem

Not the men.

 

Learn how to forget the 6 am whistle

And the eight am, 9, 10, 11, 12.

 

So you hold your head up high and thank them,

Because in this society that catcall is more woman then you ever got the chance to be.

 

 

This poem is about: 
Me

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