she walks down a crowded road -
the ninja,
and a moment of swarming eyes over
her dressed soul -
she feels eyes upon her.
she sidewalks in the speed of lighting,
avoiding the burly fat necked men at the side of the road.
her mother used to say -
stay safe, stay safe, stay safe
- and her mother was never wrong.
three boys come in front of her -
as fast as the can;
and she has less than a second to
avoid them and she side-ducks the tall needle-heads,
and she's done it yet again.
they didn't brush against her.
and yet another comes
- this time, from the side,
and she sneaks away - in a fraction of a second,
crawling past the narrowed eyes.
she learns how to camouflage herself -
lowered eyes and covered clothes and tiptoeing feet
in dark alleys;
for she is a ninja.
and she needs to protect herself -
for the thin necked spines
and fat bellied men,
and she goes to bed every night
grateful to have been safe so far.
who is she, you ask?
she is every woman on this planet.
YOU ARE READING
Prismatic Memories
Poetry"i. they tell me they cannot comprehend art. where art is, whispers reside. ii. i tell them that the only art i need are the words that bleed onto paper. iii. they tell me it doesn't work that way. there are compromises for art. sports. scie...
