If I were to look at you, could you even look back?
It's already hard enough to think of you
But to gaze upon coffee stained eyes,
Skin matted in dirt, and dust.
And to be honest,
It's disgusting how I
Beneath me, stricken down.
It's in part due to the fear instilled, I think.
I am new, and so are you,
So am I predator, or am I prey?
Am I hate, or am I aid?
Hell, Why do I even look the way I do?
Stand up now.
But not by command,
Show me your strength
Scream your superiority.
But I'll just claim it barbaric, anyway.
But what's the point?
This encounter is just imagery.
I'll never stand in your presence.
While I sit comfortably at this desk
Writing about you.
**You starve to death.
Other's turmoil is so foreign to us that we tend to forget it. Remember what you have, and others may be lacking.