Men Stare

Men walk. They stare. Dirty rusty faces. Crooked teeth and the dangerous charming smile. Old or young they will kill for our taste. They honk, scream, whistle and shout having nothing to say. There can only be so much kindness in a man, restriction to a boy’s patience, a limit to his temper. As strong cowardly men strut by me their eyes shift towards my young appearance. My face of anguish stares back at these feared souls. Feared by so many if my kind.