An Object

They look at me,

As if I am an object they'd like to devour.

Not thinking that perhaps

There's more to me than a 'pretty face'

They make me feel 'disgusting' by looking at me the way they do.

Perhaps this is what I deserve after all the sins I've committed.

This is my punishment,

The little voice whispers in my ear.

I try to breathe,

But I can't help but feel overwhelmed.

Constantly looking over my shoulder

To see if someone is watching me.

Every move,

So critical.

One wrong turn,

And they'll have me by the neck,

What can I do,

To free myself from their stares?

I am trapped between four walls,

Hoping that they forget me,

So I can roam freely.

So I can breathe again.

But NO,

Their eyes continue to follow me,

Why?

Because I am an object,

An object with no worth,

Waiting to be destroyed.