A window into the past
One year since A Modern Feminist started bloggingAugust 17th, 2012
An amateur poet's take on feminism
I know that I’ve already written about street harassment before. But it’s something that does deeply affect me. The harassment that I have faced has always been brief and fairly mild: a quick grope, a catcall, a leer. But nonetheless, it’s something that ruins my day; I end up miserable, irritable, I cry. I hope that people realise that catcalls, leers and gropes aren’t compliments, having someone shout ‘hey sugar tits’ isn’t flattering, it’s often frightening. Having my space invaded, having someone reduce me to the sacks of fat a carry on my chest or lower back is not pleasant.
But I digress, I present to you: over and over and over again
Hours, or days
‘Till it heals.
How did you walk?
What did you wear?
Make up on your face?
Flowers in your hair?
They think you’re pretty!
It’s just attention.
Just a bit of fun!
I close my eyes
See the leers
Got to shut out
The pain, the tears.
But it passes,
And fades away
For a few short weeks
For a few short days.
Until that light tough
That quick feel
And it’s hours, or days
‘Till it heals.
He looks and gawks and ogles and stares
At my legs and hips and bum and hair
Taking me apart peace by piece
Heart pounding like a dog in heat.
He cares not for my voice nor my name
Just for my fleshy mortal frame
Possessing my image for his delight
To keep him company one lonely night.
Leaving me bare, vulnerable, alone
A naked girl so far from home.
Not a scrap of cloth to hide behind
To shield me from his lecherous mind.
I remember the place those like him gave me
A caged sex toy, never to be free.
He moves on, a sigh of relief
A harrowing encounter, though very brief.