I wear a dress not so people can look at me. On the contrary, I prefer to be invisible.
I wear a dress because I feel like it…because it’s been a while…because I feel comfortable in it.
But then they stare. It’s fine I guess. But there is malice in the way they stare. Sometimes I’m too aware that I dare not look. I’ve learned it’s better to ignore them.
It’s better than being catcalled…better because they don’t touch.
So I wear shorts or skirts. But it’s the same. It seems that when they see your legs, you become an object. It’s like exposing yourself…and you are to blame.
So I wear pants. Walk like I mean business, like I’m up for a street fight. See, I learned that you’ve got to walk like a tough guy so they dare not come near.
For a girl to walk prim and proper in front of hungry wolves, you’re fresh meat. So you have to walk like a tough guy.
But it’s the same. The catcalling is still there, at times. Although not as often as wearing a dress or skirt or shorts, but it’s still there. They still look with malice and sometimes….sometimes it’s hard to hold your head up and be tough because you know they’ll never stop.
Hello earthlings! This is not a poetry but a glimpse of how it can be tough for females out in the world. I’ve been catcalled before which is never a nice feeling when you hear the malice in their voice. But many women, girls, have had it worse. Just thought of sharing what it feels like when something as simple as catcalling can do to a person. Let’s all be better people and teach the young one’s to be better as well. Love lots.
I’m not the ideal woman
I think I never will
I don’t think or act like any man’s ideal.
But I’m fine,
Because I am my own ideal woman
I grow tired too
Being strong all the time can have its brink
Like you, I too feel blue
I’m not all super like you think
I can be weak you know
The weight can be too much sometimes
Even though I refuse to let it show
Because getting exhausted seems such a crime
I’m not all of what you think I am
For even with this strength,
I’m allowed to get tired too, am I not?
Body, weak and numb
I get tired too
I may not look like it
But I ache all over too
I may appear super
But I am still human
I am an ordinary person
But will do extraordinary things for you
You think you need a break?
Try raising three kids at once
But I never complained because I did it for love
I may not look like it
But I am tired and a few beauty rests is what I need
I am woman
Capable of extraordinary things
Smile and hope, I can bring
Joy and true love I give fully
Just to see you happy
I ask for nothing
And I give everything
Hugs I give for free
Kisses come naturally
I do not ask for much, only
That you give love truly
For I am woman
Who loves you deeply
She gives her all never asking for anything in return
She’s tired all day but when she sees her children, she’s reborn
She goes the extra mile
Still manages to put on a smile
She is super and fun to be with
She only knows how to give
Oh that woman! She’s beyond compare
And this to the world I have to share
Here’s something special for Mother’s Day. To All phenomenal mothers, including mine
Pretty women wonder where my secret lies.
I’m not cute or built to suit a fashion model’s size
But when I start to tell them,
They think I’m telling lies.
It’s in the reach of my arms
The span of my hips,
The stride of my step,
The curl of my lips.
I’m a woman
I walk into a room
Just as cool as you please,
And to a man,
The fellows stand or
Fall down on their knees.
Then they swarm around me,
A hive of honey bees.
It’s the fire in my eyes,
And the flash of my teeth,
The swing in my waist,
And the joy in my feet.
I’m a woman
Men themselves have wondered
What they see in me.
They try so much
But they can’t touch
My inner mystery.
When I try to show them
They say they still can’t see.
It’s in the arch of my back,
The sun of my smile,
The ride of my breasts,
The grace of my style.
I’m a woman
Now you understand
Just why my head’s not bowed.
I don’t shout or jump about
Or have to talk real loud.
When you see me passing
It ought to make you proud.
It’s in the click of my heels,
The bend of my hair,
the palm of my hand,
The need of my care,
‘Cause I’m a woman
I write for no one, no one in particular
not to the boy begging on the street
not to the man playing his guitar
not to the old lady carrying a heavy sack
or to the woman carrying a child in her arms
I write for no one
not you not me
not him or her
not for the child who’s playing all alone
or the child enjoying an ice cream
I do not dedicate this to anyone
I dedicate this for all