You. In the car. Tinted windows, protected, and left with. You can where you go. 

Me, oh, me. I know you're watching. Better yet scanning. Better yet evaluating me, piece for piece, so sweet, to place on your plate of entitlement. Yeah, you eat that up

As you slow right down behind me.

You. Across the street. Physicals obscene, loud mouth, spewing hate but I'm the bitch? 

My eye contact doesn't mean hello, but these keys that I have to lace through my fingers might. My skirt could be as short as the breath I take when I realize

that you're right in line

but don't confuse that as a check in full of me, spelled out to you as "mine"

Still, you slow right down behind me. 

You. Next to me. Hot breath, I freeze. Yet another ghost, tapping on my minds window, the "compliments" I've come to know

I'm NOT a doll, I feel the words you fire off. They burn my skin that yes, I show, like heated little raindrops, one and then another and then I'm drenched in your say. In dismay, a short exchange has left me feeling empty. Thank God I'm not plastic, I'd melt away.

Please

Just keep walking past me.

The presence of my legs isn't a beg, reply, nor tease.  

My dress is self expresson not a canvas for projection of your bedroom desires. 

I do not owe you my body.

I am not in debt to your whims as i step and step and step again.

I walk like you walk so stop the dehumanization. 

Just keep walking past me.