"catcalled" poems
I need feminism
because men are more upset about people saying "all men"
than they are about the fact that 1 in 4 women will be ***** in their lifetime.
Not harassed, not catcalled,
*****
And that is not okay.
I need feminism because out of the four women
I speak to everyday
two of them have been *****
and all four of them can't walk to their car
without sticking their keys through their fingers to
feel the slightest inclination of safety.
I need feminism
because the other day in my math class
a student said "She was asking for it"
and the teacher agreed.
I need feminism
because when my father wasn't drinking
he was telling me to be a man.
I need feminism
because the way my father taught me to treat women
was to get them drunk.
It's not his fault,
he knew no better.
I need feminism
because my father knew no better.
Jun 1, 2014
Jun 1, 2014 at 11:08 PM UTC
Why do we distort beauty?
Beauty can be power, but it can also be a burden
I never understood, but now I do
When we are not bestowed with it,
We cage it by any and all means possible
We mock those who lack it and hate those who have it
Green monsters rise in us
We blur the pure with cold blacks and angry reds
We blame them while we try to be them
I suppose jealousy is a fickle thing
In the stories of old, they say one is blessed with beauty
To gain the admirable attention of others,
How it must feel to be dotted on
But then comes the curse
Of having too much attention
Of getting the wrong attention
Of being objectified and not respected
Of being catcalled in the streets and attempting to ignore crass comments and rude remarks.
Like the attention
Don't like the attention
To be called beautiful is such a nice thing
Until it's not.
Apr 8, 2022
Apr 8, 2022 at 12:32 AM UTC
Why I’m not “All About that Bass”
So I’m in my car cruising down i-49
When I hear a song with a kickin-baseline
*I'm all about that bass,bout that bass no treble, i'm all about that bass
I'm bringing ***** back go ahead and tell them*
STOP
Excuse me?
When did ***** leave?
How did ***** get there?
Was ***** on vacation?
Where they at tho?
Yeah my moma she told me don’t worry about your size*
But not because in a patriarchal society I am valued for my ratio
Of hips to thighs as handle bars for my man to
“keep me grounded”
But because I was beautiful anyway
I am not the number sewn into society like the waistband of my jeans
I am the number of times I look into the mirror and say “hey ****
And if society is too lazy to know that beneath these eyes but above these hips
And behind this full chest theres a heart
Lets be real
Were not going to blame Meagan trainer
She probably didn’t even write this song
but why are we idolizing these who only look to sexulize the femaile body instead of holding us to
a higher standard
and just think
you are perfect, thank you pink
we can be stronger, thank you Kelly
And no matter what we are beautiful, thank you christina
Why aren't these the women we are idolizing?
Because according to hot 107.9 its all about the *****
I am not something you can put into a box something you can stereotype
Just because i have big thighs and a ***** to match doesn't mean i want it to be pointed out
or catcalled every chance there is.
my body your body everyones body is their own
and deserves to be treated like its own perfect stronger more beautiful self.
i am strong
i am perfect
i am beautiful
my hips don't belong to you
my ***** does not belong to you
i do not belong to you
And thats why im not all about that bass
Feb 3, 2015
Feb 3, 2015 at 9:26 AM UTC
I was not born afraid of strange men.
I was not born to panic when the only empty seat on the bus is next to a man.
I was not meant to cross the street when a boy walks towards me.
I was not supposed to check the underpass for rapists when I walk home at 4 o’clock in the afternoon.
Were you born to make me itch and crawl in my own skin?
Were you born to sprawl your legs out on the bus and occupy much more space than is necessary while I perch on the edge of a seat and pray that the driver takes the corners slowly?
Were you born to give me sweaty palms and panic attacks and an uncertainty of whether or not I should wear that V-neck shirt to school?
I am going to tell you something that you will not want to hear, but you are going to listen. You are going to listen because I have been glaring and sighing and crying and screaming at you ever since the first time I wore a bra. Since my first period. Since the first time I wore makeup. Since a boy catcalled me before I knew that it was wrong.
You need to stop.
You cannot do this anymore because I will not let you. You are not allowed to follow me home because my hair glimmers in the sunlight- you are an obnoxious boy and I am thirteen. You are not allowed to ask me my name while we’re on the bus- you are a middle aged man and I am sixteen. You are not allowed to stare at my ******* while I debate whether or not to sign up for AP Biology- you are a hair-raising teenage boy and my body is not yours to stare at.
I am not a quiet, soft thing for you to ogle and speak to whenever you please. I am a person, and my favorite pair of socks are green. I am a girl, and the next time you open your legs and overflow into my space, I will sling my foot on top of your lap and ask your age until you understand. I am a human being, and I do not care if you think my hair is pretty. You need to leave me alone.
I am a person. I am strong and sarcastic and lazy and funny and weak and smart and riddled with anxiety, and I will not let you stare at me.
Mar 19, 2014
Mar 19, 2014 at 7:41 PM UTC
I lose count of how many times I am catcalled on my way to the gym
I think that maybe turning around, eating an entire pizza and
never coming back would stop this from happening
I realize it wouldn't
I would still be a woman
"Smile baby,"
I hear as I leave my car
Just 3 hours of sleep to get me to where I am and
I am tired enough to silence a response from my middle finger but
not enough to quit
A guy standing at the bus stop sees my hands wrapped and
tells me that boxing is ****
I wonder how clenched fists
self-protection and
the desire to make it home alive
each night is **** but
I don't ask
When I don't hit the bag hard enough
I remember the force of
his body and
I let my knuckles do the speaking
there is no stopping after the rage is
reborn
A man tells me how lucky I am
to have this figure
ignorant to the fact that hard work is nothing
remotely similar to luck
a string I have been stretching and pulling
that is what my body is
luck,
I think about how he will never have enough of it to touch me
I like the way it feels to
be sore from something willingly
to get up from the ground without a hand helping
these bruises are proof of my attempts
I have been practicing my run
to make up for all of the times
I havent had the guts to
my limbs are reaching forward for
every time they've been held back
I like to say that survival
is a choice made in the aftermath of destruction
the conscious decision to chew through broken glass rather
than swallow it whole
survival is not as simple as I didn't die
it is deciding not to
Hand squeezing wrist,
he told me I'd never be enough for anyone anyway
well today I am enough for
me
I'm working on myself
for myself
building ash into bone into muscle
this is strength learning how to show
this is me learning how to pull through
this is me doing exactly
that
Aug 13, 2015
Aug 13, 2015 at 3:28 PM UTC
I see so many ads now
they feed into my insecurities
and help me to notice everything that is wrong with me.
"Got stretch marks?"
they ask, and my eyes shamefully
trace down my chest to my inner thighs and I learn to hate what I see.
So I read on, hoping to learn
how to get rid of the natural signs of an ageing vessel
"Neosporin, coconut oil, and olive, and they'll be gone in a week."
The ads proclaim, and so I do as they say
because how can I be pretty
if no one else thinks me so?
"10 Tips on How to Get the Relationship of Your Dreams"
"5 Signs that You're Not as Pretty as You Think You Are"
"4 Things to Try to Spice Up Your *** Life"
"1 Way to Tell Whether the Creepy Old Man on the Corner Thinks You're Worthy of Being Catcalled by Him"
I read on, trying to understand what it is to be pretty
but the more I see,
the more hopeless I become
Men will only ever see me as a piece of meat,
just a pair of **** and an ***
only there for their enjoyment or pleasure.
but I am not here to make things easy,
I am more than the sum of my parts,
more than my cellulite and hip dips
I revel in my stretch marks
I have grown into the woman I am today,
and I refuse to erase the proof of that.
Apr 18, 2023
Apr 18, 2023 at 11:18 PM UTC
In my life I have never been ***** sexually assaulted, or catcalled
But your **** jokes make the spark inside of me grow to a raging fire.
Because although I have never been ***** sexually assaulted, or catcalled there is a nearly 1 in 5 chance that I will ***** in my lifetime.
Your **** jokes are not funny. Maybe you thought it was okay to say it Because you were with people who had never been ***** But maybe they just didn't tell you. Only 16% of rapes are reported to law enforcement. Your seemingly innocent joke may bring back memories they battle every day. Your **** joke puts the abrasive words right back into the attacker's mouth as they cut at the victim's skin. Your **** jokes have the power to remind them of being blamed, of feeling completely helpless, of wanting to die. The words of your **** joke will undoubtedly bounce around in a victim's mind. Pushing each part of the brain until everything is happening over again.
Sometimes I have stayed silent when I heard a **** joke but from now on let it be known I won't stand for it. It's not just that **** jokes aren't funny but **** is not a joke. So next time the words of a **** joke come try to be let out, roll the sentence around on your tongue, close your lips, and remember that your joke isn't a joke to everyone
Oct 21, 2015
Oct 21, 2015 at 3:23 PM UTC
Little boy, I wish you could learn
What you’ve done wrong,
But I am afraid no one will ever put you in place
Well into your adulthood.
Little boy, I hope you learn.
Where are your parents now?
Letting you sit at a park
To torment me, someone twice your age.
You stand here now to harass two girls
“Kiss! Kiss! Kiss!”
Your voice echoes with me, permanently.
While you have the freedom,
To move along with your life and forget.
Your comments about us are disgusting.
They surround my skin like the sticky summer air
And leave me feeling gross.
Do you ever think of your mother when you say these things?
Maybe your sister?
A friend?
How could you treat a girl like this
How could you not think of them getting treated in this way?
I guess you’re just a little boy and don’t realize.
You must have learned this behavior from someone in your life
Maybe your father?
A brother?
A friend?
How could you have never been thought better
Has no one put you in place?
Told you this isn’t okay?
Little boy, I hope you realize it is it okay to tell people to make out
That it’s not okay to sexualized women
Minding their own business.
That it isn’t okay to torment any stranger,
or any person in your life for that matter.
Little boy, I hope your learn before it’s too late.
Jun 2, 2019
Jun 2, 2019 at 3:05 PM UTC
On a scale of 1-10, 1 being the lowest and 10 being the highest:
1. How cute did my **** look as I walked home from school?
1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10
2. How old must a girl be before you catcall her?
1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10
3. How many miles is a girl allowed to travel from her home before she is a target?
1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10
4. In this deadly hot summer, how many layers must a girl wear to protect herself from your cries?
1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10
5. How many times has this method of courtship ever been effective?
1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10
6. How many boys does a girl need in order to protect her from you?
1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10
7. How many times has someone catcalled your mother, your sister, your daughter?
1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10
8. If unable to answer Question 7, how many times have they come home crying, holding their clothes tight to shield themselves?
1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10
9. How many letters are in my name?
1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10
I'm sorry. That last question was unfair.
You would never know my name because,
despite all the curses and jeering,
you never once asked for it.
My name is @@@@@@.
I am not your "baby."
I am not your **
I am not your ****
I am me, and I belong to no one.
10. How likely are you to allow me to not be anything else?
1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10
Jul 17, 2016
Jul 17, 2016 at 9:05 PM UTC
thanks
no i mean it
thanks
i was actually feeling a bit
d
o
w
n
and i needed you to tell me
on a monday night
at 7:53
in the middle of july
that i had i nice ***
it really brightened my day
to know
that i
a human person
can be complimented
because of my
assets
instead of the fact
that i work
all the time
without getting tired
or giving up
or that
i study
so much
i feel like
i'm falling apart
or that
i spend time
trying to make the world
around me
a little
bit
better
i really wanted to affirm
what girls are told
from the time
they can listen
that cup size matters
and whether or not
you fill out your jeans
means
whether or not
you might matter
that we will be ignored
in the work place
if we aren't
supermodels
and even if we are
that is all we become
bodies
not people
you know
somebody once told me
it doesn't matter
what you look like
because your personality can make up
for anything
which should be good
like
i look like quasimodo
but with a sense of humor
and a bit of *****
i'm esmerelda
i can look like a spork
but if i laugh
and play along
like nothing's wrong
like girls should
i can be a full fork
i love that i have to be something
really
i do
i love that being
is more important than
existing
i love that i have to be someone who listens and never speaks
i love that i have to work with all my might to be thin enough for people who don't care about other people
i love that i have to have a double d and up in order to be even noticed
i love that my **** has to be filled out and gigantic so that i can be assured personhood by a man
because girls are only
what
the
men
see
we are reduced to objects
who give up
and don't fight
because the women who fight
are criticized
and *****
and killed
and we can't stop it
because the more we speak
the more we are silenced
so thank you
sir
for reminding me at 7:53
in a menards parking lot
your wedding ring glinting
like the malice in your eye
that all i am
is
what you see
Oct 1, 2017
Oct 1, 2017 at 8:52 PM UTC
xvii.
my dear neurosurgeon
failed to find my eyes,
he only looked
at my mouth, my
left jaw,
whine a little,
and gave me analgesic - i f
orgot what's the na
me - that replaced my f
ace with the mo
on. it's moon face. still
present until this very moment
just because my body wants to
remember. i
maintain my diet like there's
no tomorrow but actually there is &
boy did it
grace my stomach with a
crying gift, an angel's tears,
an angel lives near the volcano
everything turns sour.
i wasn't hurting at that time.
now i am. turning not only
my face to the moon, my whole body
is the moon, even my
fingers are the moon
but they are the crater part so
when i touch a boy he
disappears - when i
touch a girl i disappear.
i've never wanted to be a boy,
only some nights
i am so fragile i become masculine.
it's not that i've never felt
feminine, i do, every time
i am catcalled i do, every
time my father kisses me like a jewel
i do, every time my brother
treats me like a marionette
i do, every time i'm seen as angry i swear i do.
my mother is angry all the time but
that doesn't do anything about
her womanhood - her husband
still sees her as a good, and yes, the eyes
of a man
are like the sun, nothing at all
like mine.
my eyes are the only part of me
that is not the moon, that is pluto.
i've been to so many doctors
i am very sure it's not
the minds nor the medicines.
it's funny
that
my dear neurosurgeon
didn't even graze my skin -
the only time a knife
tore my epidermis open
it was a slim box cutter.
i've been to so many doctors,
i am very sure.
Jul 16, 2016
Jul 16, 2016 at 6:09 AM UTC
Girl: (n.) A young female
A stupid, vulnerable being
I don’t want your ranking on a scale from one to ten,
or your whispered accusations: **** ***** *****
I don’t want to be catcalled by boys who think they’re men
or your hand in my back pocket and told I’m a tease or a bore.
I don’t get to keep my last name because marriage is the only way,
instead I get a dress code to halt your prying eyes.
I don’t get to walk around at night, sometimes not even during the day,
instead I get a lower pay and am told wage gaps are lies.
So, thank you, society. Thanks for teaching me fast.
Thank you for molding me into this tight plaster cast.
Feb 22, 2016
Feb 22, 2016 at 2:41 PM UTC
Every day, at 3 o’ clock, on the dot, I check the mail.
I walk around the corner of the street in bare feet,
And I feel the sidewalk heat seep into my body,
Up my legs,
Making the skin tingle for the rest of the day.
The other day, a car turned around and followed me.
I thought,
What will it be today,
Kidnapped or catcalled?
I got to the mailbox and he pulled up next to me, window down, head out.
Oh, he said, just checking the mail.
Yes, I said.
Just wanted to make sure you were okay, walking away with no shoes, you seemed to be in trouble.
No trouble, I said, just mail. Im okay. Thank you.
He pulled away.
Parked at the house next to mine.
New neighbor.
Are you okay?
Do you feel this numbness as well?
Do you also wake up dizzy and strange?
Somedays,
I eat until I feel something.
Others,
I don’t until all I feel is hunger.
Your driveway is overflowing, neighbor.
Do you feel alone?
Do the dogs keep you up at night?
Does the news?
I’m sorry about the noise, neighbor.
I sing until my throat is sore, and then keep going.
I’m okay, neighbor.
I’m just checking the mail.
There’s nothing today,
But maybe tomorrow.
Apr 18, 2020
Apr 18, 2020 at 12:00 AM UTC
Is it weird that I go through life
Times like now
Prime
And I don't wanna be bothered
Don't wanna be spoken to
Don't wanna be looked at
Don't wanna be catcalled nor seduced
Singing positive melodies in y head with a straight face on the outside
Won't let you in
Look where that got me last time
I don't wanna be bothered
With bs
With negative stanzas
With bs
With bd
With death
With dishonest
With ill intentions
I don't wanna be bothered
They profess the desire of a strong black woman
They lack the knowledge of all that comes with that
How she carries the baggage the world balanced on her back
While he's starring at her back side
Wonder what made it so fat?
Slide
I don't even want you near me
First dates can be ***** call invitations for somebody else
But honestly...
Your forwarding gestures to see my insides is an insult to my intelligence
Jun 17, 2018
Jun 17, 2018 at 6:26 AM UTC
I am sick of the stares that follow me everywhere
And of the letches I find on the street
I am sick of being catcalled on roads
And then asked to be silent about it
I am sick of the curfews that my parents impose on me
And their fears about my safety which it reflects
I am sick of the **** cases I hear about everyday
And the threat that i might be its victim too
I am sick of acid attacks
And of one-sided lovers whose love isn’t actually love
I am sick of listening about dowry victims
And of how people burn their brides for money
I am sick about not being treated equally as men
And the discrimination I see everywhere
I am sick of being judged by my clothes
As if they aren’t my clothes but my character
Yes I am a woman
And trust me I am sick of it
Feb 13, 2018
Feb 13, 2018 at 12:55 PM UTC
He opened his coffin and folded the side down, swung his legs over.
Gathered his strength
and pushed off heavily, rising unsteadily to his feet.
"Dead man walking"
He catcalled,
giggling to himself.
"That never gets old"
He couldn't sleep,
a family of worms had taken residence in his skull,
what a racket they were making.
So he went walking,
wind whipping his ragged coat tails
and straining against his top hat but a gaunt sallow hand kept it steady.
Through the small town,
still sleepy in the early morning.
Darkness was starting to fade when he settled down on a park bench.
The sun was starting to peek
out above the trees, warmth was spreading
and the world was starting to move with increasing speed.
"I wasn't expecting company, least that of the living dead."
He started with surprise,
a lady sat to his right with a wry smile on her face.
Plump lips curling.
He nodded.
And said something but it was lost in the wind.
"What did you say?"
asked the lady politely.
"I said, a sunrise as beautiful as this really tugs at the heartstrings."
Oct 11, 2010
Oct 11, 2010 at 12:05 AM UTC
I will weave a web in the rain
Drops like pearls in the moonlight
Threaded green bag over my head
Fill it with water
Watch it expand until it bursts
Head like a thistle
Swaying
Catcalled by the wind
Soaked sleeves
Wallowing with the wisps
Inhale and hold
Apr 27, 2025
Apr 27, 2025 at 1:10 PM UTC
Why won't the tears flow
why can't I cry
I am numb from the cold
and slowed by the alcohol
running through my veins,
my brain;
there is not enough
alcohol
running through
my veins;
my heart still aches -
I can feel it.
My pulse still shakes -
I can feel it
in every part of me.
And he was beautiful,
and i told you that,
and you drank a little too much
and showed me how it's done,
how i'll never be as pretty
as skinny
as enchanting
and that other boy is
beautiful,
too,
but he'd never think twice
because he's a good guy
i thought the first one
was a good guy
but he was just good
at making me feel
special
i thought the second one
was a good guy
but he was
no different
from the first
i have felt used
and i have felt
wanted
but i have never felt
needed,
never felt
loved
and sometimes
when i feel the heaviness
throughout me,
I feel like maybe i'll
find someone
who will make me
believe i'm worth it,
but it's nights like these
that make me question it,
make me wonder if maybe
i was meant to walk home
alone
in twenty degree weather
in a skin tight dress,
catcalled,
called a *****
because apparently loneliness
equates to promiscuity,
and i suppose if i
was worth it
i wouldn't have to write
about being lonely
because i wouldn't be lonely
if i was special
if i was worth it
if i was worth
anything
Nov 15, 2014
Nov 15, 2014 at 2:30 AM UTC
Ever since I was a little girl, I had always wanted to be pretty. To be a beautiful princess, a tall and irresistible super model, the gorgeous actress of a telenovela, or the weather girl that always looks fantastic, even though that's not really the purpose of her job.
Laughing, dreaming, and playing silly games. All that to grow up in a society where they DEMAND YOU to be pretty because if you aren't, you'll never be good enough. In a society where you are judged by your looks and not by your skills, where you are treated as a ****** object.
I didn't mean that when I said I wanted to be pretty!
Being catcalled, sexually and psychologically harassed, **** attempts... and the list continues.
Everytime, going out with fear, dressing as covered as possible, crossing to the other side of the street and being forced to be extremely prejudiced with people, because you never know if you are going to be the next victim.
I DON'T WANNA BE PRETTY ANYMORE.
I wanna be smart, capable, kind, loving, respectful, honest, funny, creative, generous, strong, loyal, determined, humble...
But above all, I wanna be
RESPECTED FOR WHO I AM.
May 30, 2019
May 30, 2019 at 10:31 AM UTC
what happened?
what happened to the sun being bright and beautiful?
when it kissed my shoulders while i ran with my mates
around the playground.
what happened to the times where protection meant wearing a helment?
when i didn't need worry about being a female,
being catcalled or molested.
where my only care in the world was being first in a race to the
school line.
what happened to the times where i could eat and not worry about the calories i'm eating?
what happened to not caring about still being able to fit a fist between my thigh gap.
why did i have to grow up?
i've lost my child-likeness.
my innocence left after i hit puberty.
society says you can't be sad.
s a d.
s
a
d
a
s.
what happened to being able to cry and not judged.
what happened to the times where i actually wanted to live?
see to world.
what happened to me?
Feb 11, 2018
Feb 11, 2018 at 12:03 AM UTC
Thank you for making me feel
beautiful
Jun 12, 2020
Jun 12, 2020 at 12:25 PM UTC
You cooed in my ear softly, "I love you, I won't leave you."
like a breeze caressing the pine trees at night,
like the boys do on subways to girls who rattle like the leafs.
If a tree falls in a forest and no one is around to hear it, it doesn't mean it did not make a sound.
You just didn't stop to ask before you went and cut me down.
Just because you don't ask doesn't mean I don't have anything to say.
You: Brown eyed boy, branched out fingertips, have never seen a women before.
Only something to climb up, like your hands do underneath her skirt. She sits quietly on the subway and tries to focus on her book. She knows what happens to girls at night. She's read about them all.
"22 year old women catcalled walking home from boyfriends house and killed for not responding."
It's funny how boys are so confident in shadows when they can't see their own face.
I tell myself that he's not like them,
whilst I carry around the axes from boys who have said the same thing.
Sep 29, 2017
Sep 29, 2017 at 12:27 AM UTC
Ive mastered the art of hiding my body from myself
Not seeing myself naked even in the shower
Only seeing my face in the mirror
And washing myself with a cold, impersonal, clinical touch.
Being surprised new chest hair grows back
After I last plucked it from between my *****
because I haven't looked down in so long.
I learned a long time ago by body wasn't for me
But was a flesh coffin for my soul to lie in
For this pretty boy to die in
And pretty down so the outside world would stop calling me she
And being he hasn't been cheap.
Im in the process, now, of learning that it's never enough
No matter what you give to cis-ciety
To abide by their standards
You will still be catcalled
Still asked on the first date about your surgery
Still referred to as Miss with your sideburns and mustache and low octive voice.
Theyre so hungry
their nonsense says feed me
Stop wearing make up
Dress uncomfortably
Try harder
Just to please me
But they will always find a reason to kick you out of the men's restroom.
And even if they dont
Even if they smile and call you sir
Even if they ask your **** size on the first date instead of what's between your legs
Even if they ignore you on the street because youre wearing pants instead of skirt.
You wonder what they would have said to you 12 months ago
When estrogen had softened your jawline
When mac tinted your lips
And you could still hit the high notes in that song on the radio.
Would they have called you sir then?
Do you feel any more safe
washing your hands in the men's room
Waiting to be caught?
Jan 28, 2018
Jan 28, 2018 at 11:32 PM UTC