The Gaze

The gaze, the constant gaze

Brings a salty taste to my mouth

Of the blood that flows through

My pierced tongue. Pierced as

I bite hard. Bite in anger

In anger and in fear. (6)

Black eyes stare blindly

Blinded by my skin?

Or they gaze off with no purpose

If only it was with no purpose

I shall never know. Perhaps

they are enthralled by my legs. (12)

I rarely write poetry.

It has been many years. But

In these moments of hatred

The salt brings about an itch

to write and pick at my skin

to feel safe and clean, yet again. (18)

I stare back, attempting to.

But I usually look away

Not wanting to see a glimmer

Or a wink or the hardening

Of his desires in front of me

I can feel the sweat clamming (24)

Between my hands. I clench.

my fists and fingers. I crack

my knuckles. I speed up.

I worry. His phone. Their phones.

Out. Click click clickity click.

Go home with that photo. Send. (30)

I imagine the worst. I am.

New porn to him. Them. I am

Their sisters, wives, daughters

Used up. My legs become his

Fantasy? Sometimes they move

closer to me. And I panic. (36)

I always wonder why. Often

I am told to let go. Wear what

you want. And I want. But I

don’t want to be your fantasy.

I don’t want you to think

of me, and my legs at night. (42)