Maybe that's why
I prefer dogs;
animals probably have
more culture than you.
the way you take
quick glances at my trembling self
by the roadside,
with ear-piercing whistling—
does that excite you
as much as it scares me?
you made me look at
my long-sleeved dress
and ankle-hidden boots;
yet I question,
are my outfits deemed ******
till it entices your manhood?
I grip my bags firmly
and wallow in self-grief
for temporary relief,
as I fear more than just
compliments threw by
preys on the streets.
should you disagree,
of my brother,
whistling and signalling
your blood-sister,
should you disagree,
of my father,
oversexualising your mother,
then don't be a disgrace
to the ladies watching.
It was a sunny afternoon, and I was wearing a formal knee-length skirt and a loose, long-sleeved blouse. And then there's the cat-calling.
I can't believe I'm drenching myself in sweat to avoid this— and it still happened.
Just stop.