They Can See

The faces turn

And the eyes, they burn.

The can see me.

I can physically feel

Their appraising looks of

Disdain,

Like unwelcome fingers

Raking over my body

And poking

And prodding

Until I feel like

Livestock on show.

They must surely know

That my socks don’t match today.

They surely notice

My frizzy

Locks.

And they must hate my clothing

Because that’s the

Only

Logical

Reason

They’d ever look at me.

It must be judgment

Of my physical body.

Because I don’t know

How to handle

Judgment

Of my soul.

Comments

Need to talk?

If you ever need help or support, we trust CrisisTextline.org for people dealing with depression. Text HOME to 741741