i’ve always despised the way men watch me. the way they stand there on sidewalks and wait for a fine lookin’ young lady like me to walk by. the way they see me coming. i see them coming too but i’m supposed to keep my head down. eyes out of the sun. i despised the way they get a breath’s length away, close enough to smell me with their glares. up and down. side to side. diagonally. the holy cross and mary.  gazes crossing back and forth, backwards and forwards, over my body and until death. from my toes to the frizz of my grey hair, they stare and they stare. the touch of an eye growing wrinkles on my soft young skin. wandering minds wondering what it must be like

to know the soul of a woman like me.

womanly,

like me.

walking on sidewalks.

waiting for men to watch

her.

me.

a

woman

like

me.

i’ve always despised the way men watch me.
they didn’t like it when i started to watch back. i watched how, at ease, they were walking on sidewalks. like they’ve never had to worry about someone following them. like they’ve never felt like prey on an open range field walking to their car. i watched how nonchalant they got to be about life. never rushing. never fearing. always at ease. hands in pockets. shoulders relaxed. hair brushed to the side, catching a breeze on the ends. i watched men glide through streets, on roads, down corridors, highways and hallways, shouting from ceilings and breaking glass on roof tops. 

i wondered why it felt like they were drinking from different air. there was an aura about them - like they learned how to swallow the sky and make a rainbow with their mind at an age younger than i. i wonder how he when who watched me always got to be where i was going faster than me. how they were there, hanging against a brick wall, waiting for me walk by - i was still just getting there. i was only just arriving to the place they’d been for years before me. i think the answer to the equation you’re thinking a six year gap of wisdom and knowledge. men got to books, beer, booze, drugs, sex, love and pearls six years before a woman. by the time i met a man for the first time, i was appalled at the reversal of ancient wills, astonished by his unknowing demeanor - six years younger, without a clue about you, holding more knowing in my one hand only than your entire body of being. i’m twirling again. i’m dancing myself to death. black leather pants grind. grand. timing of a lifetime and centuries before. the
coming of a new world christ. 




i’ve always despised the way men watch me.




the way they don’t ever say much.






but they’ve always done something.




atmospheres of fear and chaos made from the sway of thin air, traps of distractions - like bears we collapsed at the heel. watching as they blew bubbles with their backs to the bomb they detinated. the fire they started. the thing they’ll die for a never admit. robbed wallets, rapes and killings. mothers, daughters, adults and children. family, strangers, friends and assistants. in the bathrooms and cars, in twin beds and on floor boards. long hair, short and spunky, skirts, pants, dresses and shorts. dropped in water tanks and left in alley ways. i watched as men did what they wanted with a women’s body, sound and mind. oh, i’ve said too much and not enough at all. the headlines have been consumed, documentaries played on air.








A generation of 30 year old woman with wisdom only the holy know of and boys who didn’t grow to be the man they always wanted to be.






the world watched as the men did the doing.






the world watch as them did what they liked. 




It’s the ladies turn to have a little fun.





to make the world a little more colorful.




with the warmth of a mother’s womb




growing a labor of love inside of you.













the founding fathers.












you made sure of it.