I am a minor
I look like a twelve year old
though I am older
But somehow, older is still young
Yet when older men look at me
They see the younger older girl
With a smile warm and welcoming
Like I'm a place mat
For a new home in which they can dwell
They can see the lack of years on my cheeks
Yet still their hungry eyes bore into my body
Their hands reach to shake mine
To touch my shoulder
As if they know me personally
And even as I take my hand back
Or politely move from reach
They will introduce themselves
With a light voice
And say pretty compliments as if they mean them
And then their words will turn suggestive
And their hands will tip more dollar bills than usual
And they will stare just a little bit longer after I catch them looking.
I am a minor.
I look like a minor.
I act like the child that I am.
Why do men think that my manner is a game?
That my body is free to look at like I'm the food on his plate.
Sometimes I think to myself
"Do they have children,
Would they look at their own innocent daughters the way they do me?"
But of course it's not the same.
See, fathers will tell their daughters
Be safe
Never let a man hurt you
Be ready to defend yourself
Never walk alone
Don't stay where you are uncomfortable.
And then those same fathers
are the reason daughters are never safe
