The way you look.
I like the way you look. So I stop and stare. Not in a nasty way, I just like your hair. Your face is eloquent and lovely. Most pleasing to the eye. Until you meet my gaze with disgust as a reply. Why so much hate within you? Why bitter and so mean? Who has fucked you over so, so badly? It was not me.
You see I view your beauty as an artwork such as a Matisse. Hung there in the museum for our view. I cannot take it home with me, I know this and that's o.k.
I look upon each as lovely and walk away. I was not trying to use you or take you home. So the next time an admirer views you from across the room. Give him a chance my lady. He may just be there to admire the view.
Phil G. Inman Sr.
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