Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Cat May 2018
Dear opposite ***,

Before you open your mouth to say
I am your typical average, ****, *****
Cause my skirt is too low-cut,
or the neckline of my shirt is
too low
That I should have thought about it
before I walked through the door.

How about you put on my shoes and go for a walk
Maybe you'll understand
That I can't walk just down the block,
For a carton of milk or some spam
Without men calling "hey miss" or "hot ****"

Even when I am wearing sweatpants
or a plain boring hoodie that
hides my shape
I even can't escape
their terrorizing stare

Their eyes rip through my clothing
leaving me bare.
Even no skin,
I cannot win.

Walking down the street on any day
clothed "appropriately" or not
is like wearing nothing either way
no use to conceal

                they see what they will

Maybe you'll realize the power within a stare,
That leaves women just like me
struck with fear
because they never know
when danger is near

To be woman is to fear,
it is what we are taught
when we are young,
and what we will learn

when our bodies blossom and grow
to the shape and form to
the standards society teach us
to what is considered the norm
and how to conform

Then they turn around and shame us
when men snear at
jeer at
and **** us
Why is woman always to blame
While male is protected and hidden in name

You see, our lives, already, is a ******* game.
Where they have already written the rules.
Well, we all know this isn't a fair fight.
As of now, the price of safety just isn't right.
Cat May 2018
What is it about the water?
Like misshaped tiles the ripples scatter;
shifting at every swift motion and quake,
staring back at a man lost in a reflective gaze
Lost in a pool of his own thoughts;
He recognizes the drowning body
that sinks deeper as his mind descends

Should he linger behind inches of safety;
or should he let himself fall into ponderous
depths of transparent glass;
Eyes closed, he lets go and joins his enemy,
like a sail his body floats, effortlessly.
"Portrait of an Artist (Pool with Two Figures)" by David Hockney
Cat May 2018
The slow click hoisting you up high,
the spinning sea of
colors, red, and yellow, and blue.
Never too old, for wonders to unfold.
Back down on the ground,
A man balanced on a wheel,
hobbles back and forth –
Like all, he wishes not to fall.
Stitched and stuffed, child pacifiers meet the eye,
dashy games, for flashy prizes
Step right up, win em’ all
they beckon, and they call –

All rejoicing at the sound of the calliope,
And the blaring bright spectacle for all to see.

Aromas from greasy concessions,
confections filling the air, screaming
Follow if you dare.

Or if you’d rather,
take the path with the changing lights,
winding road of twists and turns,

Into a room where reflections are
Not your friend –  and enemies,
You’ll come to face – once
yours meets hard glass case

Slowly but surely, you will escape,
like a magician disappearing beyond his cape,
Seeing was once believing,
now suddenly, the eyes are only deceiving.

— The End —