When they think, I'm pretty...
...they imbibe, my words:

the coldest water,
from a burbling spring.
They cool perspiring tongues
from the pool, of my thoughts,
yet seldom even recall,
their texture, or flavor.

...When they think, I'm pretty,
they can't help,
but to chase me, around.
...They chase me, for my time.
They chase me,
for a fragment, of my attention.

...They chase me...
until my legs beg, relentlessly,
to collapse, beneath me.

...They chase me,
until my lungs explode
in my chest,
like machine gun-fire,
and every sobbing breath, I draw,
divides me, in two.

...When they think, I'm pretty...
they target me, on site.
When I'm walking away...
I know we'll both,
be watching,
my backside.

When they think I'm pretty...

I quickly remember...
that safety,
is, but an illusory state.

...I feel...

simultaneously
validated, and afraid

...for my own life.

When they think, I'm pretty,
I'm grateful, that they also think...
that my head, is full of helium,
and I'm just floating on, by.

Unmindful, of the weight,
in the fistful of steel, that I hold,
and fully deaf--to a mind,
that screams, and whirrs,
like a hungry chainsaw.

They don't know, when I'm in survival mode.
They don't know,
that I can outthink,
and I can outsmart them...

...even if I can't outrun them.

When they think, I'm pretty...
I hold my breath, and pray,
that they're still human enough,
to let me go,
and let me live.

...But when I'm not pretty...

...they will all forget,
that I ever...




e x i s t... e d .