Little Black Dress

Why do you expect so much, why do you think I did this and that?

Is it because my lips, hips, and chest are full, or because of the arch in my back?

Is it the way I bat my eyelashes, or the way I crack a smile when I walk past a group or one I feel you staring for a while.

 It makes me feel uncomfortable when you undress me with your eyes;

I feel your beaming desire to know what lies beneath my thighs.

 Do I come across as a flirt or a mistress in the night?

Just because you’re entitled to your wondering eyes and dirty thoughts, doesn’t make it right.

 

 I try to uphold a beautiful appearance and keep certain assets in so I won’t have to deal with the ignorance of males young and old, which seems to never end.

 Where is the respect, did I not gain that when I proclaimed to be a child of a king?

 Or did the common man forget about that for the finer and the material things.

 I’m not boastful, I’m humble about the curves I possess, it’s not my fault I make heads turn when I wear my little black dress.

 What am I supposed to do about this beautiful curvaceous body that’s causing these young men so much stress?

Nothing, that’s it but embrace my little black dress.

 

This poem is about: 
Me

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