You pick at my stockings,

telling me how good they look.

Your expression welcoming,

while your eyes tell a different tale.

A gaze soaked in entitlement,

like i owed you something.

You reassure that your intent is pure,

when it’s anything but.

You look at me as if i’m prey,

Like you hold power over me.

Though,

You made a mistake.

I am not a possession

Not a trophy

and not some thing you can control.

I am a woman.

Not yours to claim,

and i do not shrink

for men like you.