i don't like being stared at,
or glorified,
or looked at like i'm just a showpiece—
almost like a mannequin?
like i'm supposed to do your bidding,
or abide by your ideals.
i don't like being looked at
the way one would look—
when they're judging you for the smallest of hook,
the tiniest of details.
no, you're just aggravating—
there's nothing romantic about that stare.
kinda like—
the difference between being seen
and just looked at on the surface.
what is wrong with my brain,
why can't you seem to judge that?
i wouldn't despise it
if you were to give me the longing glances,
or the ones filled with care,
the kind where i know
they wouldn’t just drift top to bottom—
like fingers on a shiny sphere.
don't objectify me.
i know my worth,
even though i forget it sometimes.
it's a vulnerability
i intend to show.
i’m not the prettiest—
that still doesn't give you the right to know.
i hold the discomfort,
i hold my identity.
feels like shattering,
the moment a wrong glance or a finger
touches any part of my skin.
it's complex.
i don't think you'll understand it.
i'm a human—
not a model,
not an art piece
held up for judging.
you know they’d look at the one you love
the way you do at me right now,
when i tend to swerve.
the severity of it— you wouldn’t know.
what it's like to be criticised,
judged,
given looks everywhere you go.
i still don't understand
why i face them.
more than half come from lust,
and barely a few from the place of love.
i don't shake hands,
afraid of what i’ll touch,
what you’ll feel—
and later think about.
god, i shiver at the mere thought.
too much.
i could be worshipped,
held by the right hands,
but the wrong eyes,
and the wrong views—
they almost always
**** up this land.
can't walk,
can't talk,
can't laugh,
can't show.
if i'm to exist like a stone,
why can't i hurl back
and simply clone
all that you’ve done
and all that you’ve said?
i've got those stares creeping up my skin,
like slithering worms underneath my shin,
smothering me from the inside, like being smoldered in heat.
i feel like i might melt, or worse, fade away into nothing.
perhaps it wouldn't be so bad of a choice, if i'm to disappear.
for it is this feeling that sears, within and carries a scream.
sheer mockery, provided the serenity with which you return that gaze.
i hate you, i hate each one of you that's made me feel bare,
and not the way i'd want to be emotionally with the one whom i hold tender,
but the way— the way— the way—
oh please, let me just disappear.
don’t look at me
if you only wish
to see me as an object.