Cat-Calls

I fall to the ground with hands holding my head before it splits in two.

I am sick and tired of all this.

The dopamine produced in high school is ridiculous.

I used to think I might not have a pretty face but at least I have a colorful mind.

My mind filled with sunsets, and storm clouds and sunny days.

Ink splatters on the flesh of my temples and inspiration inside my eyes.

The catcalls won’t stop long enough for me to seek out happiness.

The string of beautiful words melt into my skull and drown who I know I am.

The once kind words destroy me and I melt just to find more.

But not the words of my own head like I always used to find,

But those of another reckless boy trying to tear panties off of helpless girl with “blowjob eyes”.

The cat calls are breaking my brain in two.

These bad people with their viper teeth tell me I am beautiful and that they love me.

They say that my boobs are nice and my ass is so well shaped.

But they never once say a damn thing about my head.

About my mind and the creativity being produced in excess behind sparkling eyes.

They mistake the sparkle for lust and a want for attention.

They want to be there when I break, to slip into my pants,

 Not to comfort the broken soul before them.

Other girls’ envy is sickening,

But with all this, my disgust is fixed elsewhere.