these handcuffs hurt like unwanted apologies,
unscrew your skewed views and unlock me.
It’s not illegal to dress provocatively.
My sister told me to wear a different skirt,
maybe I should have listened to her.
I never went to a masquerade.
I thought it was okay to not cover your face.
Face or legs,
the skins the same,
for my clothes – should I be ashamed?
I’m not dressing to stand on my knees.
please, quit strip searching me.
They think that I am Barbie doll inferior,
stretching and bending and “Hands on the door!”
They search my shoes for
something they can catch me for.
I can taste the metal of the car cop hood,
Officer yelling, “It’s for your own good?”
I was walking to my taxi,
when you pulled over and handcuffed me.
Maybe it’d be different if I were in jeans,
as if what we wear defines
what we mean,
or who we are,
or what we do.
unlock me please
so I can say “**** off” and not “**** you”
Should you have the right to accuse?
Judging by how I look
you stereotype what I do.
I am no prostitute.
Get your hands off me
or I will call back up like the way it should be.
My mother never told me not to wear something.
She only told me that we have the freedom of expression,
and the freedom to be more than just tolerated.