Things You Don't Want To Admit (Poems)

A Club You (Don't) Want To Be A Part Of

These days a girl can't walk two streets without being catcalled, or whistled at, or asked on a date.

In that order of frequency.

"Those builders were staring at my arse!" One girl says,

While her friends stare at it and simultaneously praise her on her leggings and declare the men pigs,

Because what she's wearing might be hot, but it doesn't give them the right to say so.

And rightly so.

But although she's offended, she's looking at her bum in the glass of the shop window,

And telling every friend she passes that day that those creeps embarrassed her,

Though every time she says it she's less offended and more mollified,

As each friend confirms that her outfit is sexy and men are awful, entitled creatures,

Both of which are true, but reveals that how she looks directly correlates with how the patriarchy responds,

Or is that the other way around?

When the teacher asks all the girls to put their hands up if they've been assaulted,

And everyone else nods or lifts their palm,

It's like woman is a club that I've not been invited to.

They might be upset, offended, raging feminists angered by the eyes of a single man,

But at least they are desirable, they have proof that their bodies awaken those of men.

And mine, with my large breasts and hips and faded stretch marks and slim legs

Still isn't a severe enough curve to elicit their interest.

Maybe I'm too short, too plain, too covered up?

If I wear a red lipstick will that drunk divorcee in the bar grab me next time?

If I bear my legs I'm a slut who'll garner the wrong kind of attention,

But if I wear my cardigans and jeans like I always, always do then I'll gain none at all,

Because at the end of the day the question is always "but what was she wearing?"

And I wonder what narrative I've been fed, when I'm upset that I haven't been objectified yet today.

I don't. I don't wonder, actually.

Because I know I've been raised to see that a wolf whistle is a compliment that I'm not getting,

And objectification proves I'm pretty,

And when no one is staking an unwanted claim on my body,

Then I must be invisible.