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.