When I was nine I wore a B-cup

I looked about fourteen and I sat outside the dollar store

Eating a popsicle next to my mom.

More than one man passed me and stared.

I still don't eat popsicles.

Now, don't get me wrong;

I love a good compliment.

But I wasn't aware that blowing your horn

When I'm minding my own business
 

Or yelling "NICE ASS" out your truck

While I'm on my way to a funeral

Constitutes as a compliment.

Because I keep my head down
Wear baggy clothes

Bind down my chest

Walk in groups

Because if one more man

Compliments my tits

And is old enough to be my father

I might just go mad.

You are not flattering me.

You are creepy.