heart shaped glasses

les bus || busses

To the men I caught staring at me on the bus.

Did you like it? Did you like the way my oversized coat draped across my body? I saw the way you smirked. Or did you like my body? Because I hate it, I hate everything about myself.
Little did you know, you've chosen the wrong girl. You've chosen a broken soul, a lost cause, a writer. Someone that in fact knows your staring. You've chosen a lady that has sworn to kill her youth.
And although they don't go unnoticed, you're stares don't phase me.
But, I find your eyes distracting. Not enough to disrupt my day, not enough for me to write anything more than a poem about.

The one with light blue eyes and an unruly sand coloured mane, I saw you looking again.
I guess the young, fat adolescent with too oversized, fake glasses was like her blush, too much.
And the guy with wide brim glasses and the faded, brown hat. I only caught a glimpse of your disgusting smile.
I tried to convince myself both times that those predators weren't looking at me. They were looking at my friend, the pretty one. Why would they be staring at me?

Why?
Why?
WHY?