Cricket Calls
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This is a spoken word poem about respect for women. It's about the way I have seen people treat females on the streets, particularly here in New York. I call it "Cricket Calls" - but this is a poem about 'cat calls' (the more widely known/recognized term). You know what I'm talking about. I hate those motherfuckers.
Walking and living on the streets of New York City, one thing that always made me uncomfortable was when a group of guys would whistle and cat-call (or 'cricket call') at women as they passed. And if it made me feel awkward, I can't imagine how irritated and wretched it made those women feel. This poem explores women's strength, my own gut and emotion, and how that bullshit makes me feel. Hope you enjoy this spoken word piece, and I hope it sparks something up in you that makes you want to write something similar! |
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I see it every day,
Those hips sway
Like brush in the breeze,
Form fit jeans,
Blouse, shirts, skirts
That hurt
To imagine,
Wet jet hair
Forever
Eyelashes slashing
Over Colgate smiles,
Clicking heels,
Sexy stockings,
Shocking exposure,
Exposed shoulders that struck me
And lips that say….
Well, let’s just say
I see it every day
And every day,
I feel smaller
See, I don’t have that
Chippendale’s bod,
Abs rock hard
Or a tight plump butt,
Mine just
Needs to be enlarged,
So I feel left out,
Like I don’t have the things
Women wanna see
Before engaging conversation,
So I’m prematurely placing
Myself in a situation
To lose
Why can’t they just know I’m not a loser?
Why can’ they just
Hear my thoughts,
Like Mel Gibson in “What Women Want"?
Cuz
I’m what women want:
Honest and independent,
Never been the defendant,
Not one for beef
Or drama,
On February 14th
My first call goes to momma,
And the word ‘bitch’
Makes me cringe…
I’m not a fan of cheaters,
Leaders
Don’t womanize,
You know,
The ones who keep side girls
Just cuz they like straight hair and curls,
Hissin’
Whistlin’ from two blocks down,
Howlin’ Blood Hounds
Who really think they’re not
Intimidating anyone…
The disrespect blows my mind,
Cuz see,
I’m raised by my mother,
Who helped me discover,
How to appreciate true beauty,
Without turning into a
Rabid rabbit
Frenzied
And outta control,
Don’t people know
That not every female’s name
Is “baby”?
That we’re all
Born from a lady,
Submerged from the womb of a
Sacred temple
And just maybe,
If men learn to respect the ground
Under a woman’s hard working heels,
The feel,
Of a female’s
Air of confidence,
They way they are
Perfect pottery,
Sculpted molded and heated,
By the same hands that kneaded
You,
Defeated subdue,
Maybe,
Just maybe that lady
Doesn’t need your regret,
Maybe she’s a friend lover or soul mate
You just haven’t met yet,
But cricket calls
And crooked comments,
Are no way to get a friendly smile
Or initial hello…
Now I’ve always had friends
Who fit this description,
So this is my conviction
To all of you
Poor pitiful people
Who push up and pressure,
Provoke and project your
Inadequacies
On a soul that’s content,
Spew your
Matriarchal resent
Lined with contempt,
This
Is when I stop playing the sidelines exempt,
And let you know,
You make me nauseous,
And now a guy like me
Has to be cautious
Every time I even think
Of starting a conversation with a female…
It’s hard enough as it is
To muster esteem
From between
Shaky ribs and a once shattered heart
Still in the shop,
But you have added more obstacles
To a course where I should succeed,
Than I need,
More frustration
Than writing poems of pain
Where my pen cries
And my paper bleeds,
I concede,
I feel like the Taliban,
Fighting a war I’ll never win,
Just taking hurtful pieces,
Like mosquito bites on summer nights
My cause feels hopeless…
But I just want to
Convey this message,
The way that some treat women
Is genocide…
Think about it
Even Tupac shouted
“and if we don’t we’ll have a race of babies
That will hate the ladies
That make the babies…”
The man was far from crazy,
He saw the shady degrading
Behavior invading,
The better half
Of our mating
Incentives,
The world’s princesses
And though we’re all taught history
Through bias books,
And Euro-male outlooks,
History,
Is lined with so many important women,
That maybe we should call it
“Herstory”…
Those hips sway
Like brush in the breeze,
Form fit jeans,
Blouse, shirts, skirts
That hurt
To imagine,
Wet jet hair
Forever
Eyelashes slashing
Over Colgate smiles,
Clicking heels,
Sexy stockings,
Shocking exposure,
Exposed shoulders that struck me
And lips that say….
Well, let’s just say
I see it every day
And every day,
I feel smaller
See, I don’t have that
Chippendale’s bod,
Abs rock hard
Or a tight plump butt,
Mine just
Needs to be enlarged,
So I feel left out,
Like I don’t have the things
Women wanna see
Before engaging conversation,
So I’m prematurely placing
Myself in a situation
To lose
Why can’t they just know I’m not a loser?
Why can’ they just
Hear my thoughts,
Like Mel Gibson in “What Women Want"?
Cuz
I’m what women want:
Honest and independent,
Never been the defendant,
Not one for beef
Or drama,
On February 14th
My first call goes to momma,
And the word ‘bitch’
Makes me cringe…
I’m not a fan of cheaters,
Leaders
Don’t womanize,
You know,
The ones who keep side girls
Just cuz they like straight hair and curls,
Hissin’
Whistlin’ from two blocks down,
Howlin’ Blood Hounds
Who really think they’re not
Intimidating anyone…
The disrespect blows my mind,
Cuz see,
I’m raised by my mother,
Who helped me discover,
How to appreciate true beauty,
Without turning into a
Rabid rabbit
Frenzied
And outta control,
Don’t people know
That not every female’s name
Is “baby”?
That we’re all
Born from a lady,
Submerged from the womb of a
Sacred temple
And just maybe,
If men learn to respect the ground
Under a woman’s hard working heels,
The feel,
Of a female’s
Air of confidence,
They way they are
Perfect pottery,
Sculpted molded and heated,
By the same hands that kneaded
You,
Defeated subdue,
Maybe,
Just maybe that lady
Doesn’t need your regret,
Maybe she’s a friend lover or soul mate
You just haven’t met yet,
But cricket calls
And crooked comments,
Are no way to get a friendly smile
Or initial hello…
Now I’ve always had friends
Who fit this description,
So this is my conviction
To all of you
Poor pitiful people
Who push up and pressure,
Provoke and project your
Inadequacies
On a soul that’s content,
Spew your
Matriarchal resent
Lined with contempt,
This
Is when I stop playing the sidelines exempt,
And let you know,
You make me nauseous,
And now a guy like me
Has to be cautious
Every time I even think
Of starting a conversation with a female…
It’s hard enough as it is
To muster esteem
From between
Shaky ribs and a once shattered heart
Still in the shop,
But you have added more obstacles
To a course where I should succeed,
Than I need,
More frustration
Than writing poems of pain
Where my pen cries
And my paper bleeds,
I concede,
I feel like the Taliban,
Fighting a war I’ll never win,
Just taking hurtful pieces,
Like mosquito bites on summer nights
My cause feels hopeless…
But I just want to
Convey this message,
The way that some treat women
Is genocide…
Think about it
Even Tupac shouted
“and if we don’t we’ll have a race of babies
That will hate the ladies
That make the babies…”
The man was far from crazy,
He saw the shady degrading
Behavior invading,
The better half
Of our mating
Incentives,
The world’s princesses
And though we’re all taught history
Through bias books,
And Euro-male outlooks,
History,
Is lined with so many important women,
That maybe we should call it
“Herstory”…
Other recommended poems based on this one:
WAR | TORNADO | HE | I AM (a poem about life)
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