Behind their smiles,

I can see it in their eyes

how arrogance and curiosity

scurry through their mind-tunnels

like rats, or small beady-eyed

creatures.

Their well-intentioned inquiries,

their “concern” for me,

is a product of society’s

moral dilemmas:

young girls do not know

the joy of which they speak

-their illusions pumped and fed

to enormous size-

and lies become absolute truth

in their pretty pink heads.

And with sincerity

do they wave this at me

(like a stick with a flame

on the end)

at my face,

teasing my already fragile anxiety

to where it too grows enormous,

fed on delicious, potent fear,

like locusts in a field;

like the rotting of over ripened fruit.