We’re Over It

Taking her outfit out of the closet she puts it back,

She’s not in the mood to tolerate being hollered at;

She puts on the baggy clothes she bought from the men’s department;

Music in one ear and a knife in her pocket, she steps away from her apartment.

On the streets, she keeps her head down,

Not wanting any attention, not making a sound.

Despite all the precautions, they still yell out to her,

“Hey, red, could I get your number?”

More comments come her way,

But she can’t fully hear them over the music she plays;

Eyes still down, she can feel their gaze,

Guess she could have worn what she wanted anyway.

It doesn’t stop there;

Even with a man who says he cares,

Even with a man who she thinks she can trust,

He ends up overcome with lust;

Afterwards, she starts to cry,

Hiding herself under the sheets, he notices and rolls his eyes;

“Why are you crying and shaking? Stop looking so sad;”

Of course, she should have known better than to make him feel bad.

It’s not all men, but we don’t know which;

So, excuse our anger because we’re so over it.