To the scrub,

Last week, I was taking a walk around the block and what happened next was no shock. The sun was shining, the birds were chirping... and the scrubs were lurking.

As I strolled down the pavement I heard a car roll up and to my absolute bereavement I saw a scrub. He was hanging out the passenger's side of his best friend's ride, trying to holler at me.

Normally I'd ignore the leers and stares and tell myself that I don't care. But this time I have to reply; time's up and it's time for this disgusting habit to die.

So I said:

No, I don't want your number

No, I don't want to give you mine and

No, I don't want to meet you nowhere.

No, I don't want none of your time and

No, I don't want no scrub.

I want him to think before the next time he tries to holler or wink at a women who doesn't want no scrubs.

I want him to remember this is not a grocery store, this is a street

I want him to know I'm a person, not a piece of meat.

I want my daughter to walk to work, to a friend's, to a lecture

And not be subject to unwanted attention at a scrub's conjecture.

I want my sons to be aware of a woman's worth, as well as his own.

The only passenger's side they'll be hanging out

Of will have music, good conversations and laughter pouring out,

Not. Street. Harassment.