catcall the bell-wearer
whose toll is paid in soft looks
longing sighs and blue eyes
like a Siamese cat because
an animal caged won't rebel
whistle and marvel at lithe grace
possessed by beauty of presence
charm that smokes and chars
magnified only by their walk
like a dance for poppies
made only more appealing
with cold shoulders and fury

Its kind of a funny thing
How the world teaches us that we need to be great
When so many of us are average

For the world to tell children
Of the need to fit in
And to tell these grown ups
Of the need to stand out