When I was nine I wore a B-cup
I looked about fourteen and I sat outside the dollar store
Eating a popsicle next to my mom.
More than one man passed me and stared.
I still don't eat popsicles.
Now, don't get me wrong;
I love a good compliment.
But I wasn't aware that blowing your horn
When I'm minding my own business
Or yelling "NICE ASS" out your truck
While I'm on my way to a funeral
Constitutes as a compliment.
Because I keep my head down
Wear baggy clothes
Bind down my chest
Walk in groups
Because if one more man
Compliments my tits
And is old enough to be my father
I might just go mad.
You are not flattering me.
You are creepy.