Every time she feels observed, she turns
To be met by the same male glaze,
The eyes fixed below her neck, below her navel,
The male glaze, the merging of the
Lazy predatory smile and the frozen eyes,
Which judge and take, and ignore
The essence of her.
In the old days, before she learned
Her power, she’d shrivel up inside and flee,
But now, yes now,
She just laughs and blinds them
With the light arts she taught herself
In the quiet hours.
R 15/03/2023 22:08