I walk conscious of the stares,

like Jezebel moving through the pages of the Bible. 

Both hands to my side as if I can stretch the cotton by sheer force.

The S,

red enough to make the devil hide his eyes.

Sears into my skin.

For I am a slut if my skirt brushes the tips of my fingers 

Rather than my knees.

Mother tells me to hide away, 

To protect my legs with cotton.

Sister tells me I should be grateful, 

While grandma says nothing at all. 

As she silently prays to save my soul from damnation. 

She prays so hard for the girl,

She leaves men vulnerable to the demons.

The stares, the whistles, the harassment 

It isn’t their fault.

They’re possessed. 

Their insatiable hunger being fed 

By the millions they’ve sacrificed.

Leaving the fortunate few 

To bow our heads 

And hope we’re not next.