She is used to being watched,
to being studied.
She has spent the years
since first bloom
knowing that men stare
are aware of her
yearning to pick her
up, to pluck her
exactly how they wish.

She is used to being
an object of desire
anticipating eyes across each room
to be guided towards her.
She feels those eyes wide
hungry for a taste
seeking to swallow her whole.
She feels their eyes growing in her presence
and other things.

She suspects she has spent countless nights
in countless men’s fantasies
and has grown,
if not used to it,
used to this world in which she lives
where she is some kind of prey
to some senseless hunters
who don’t even understand their prize.

She is tired of it
of course
and wishes sometimes
to just go under covers
and sleep
alone

forever.