Appetite

I can feel their eyes like fingertips at my nape, I can feel them curve down my body, flick over my hipbones, grip the dip behind my knees. And I feed off these gazes because I’m eye-eating them too, even if they don’t realise it. The almond-coloured boy with the tattoos that I frowned at every time we caught eyes. The pretty blonde boy on the bicycle that turned around to smile at me. The fuller-figured flirt that gold-starred my outfit when I asked for a lighter. The man with Jolie lips and Pocahontas hair that stared at me before he turned a corner. Suddenly men are everywhere. What came first? Is my appetite drawing them to me or has it always been like this and I am only noticing it now? I’m surprised by my desire. Each glance, each smile is the possibility of an adventure. It’s all rather exciting.

I’m so hungry! It’s like I’m sitting in a fine restaurant with my hands clasped over my mouth, starving because I’m too scared to take a bite of something new. I think a lot about the men I haven’t met just because I was too frightened to look back at them. All I’ve ever learnt from love was how to shoot somebody who outdrew you. I’m not sure how to unlearn this lesson. Experience has taught me that men want me because there is something unattainable about me. Tell me how to unlearn this.

I carry these men around with me. I remember their gazes and their smiles. I wonder who they are, what their voices sound like, how they hold cutlery, what their kisses taste like. And it’s funny in an unfunny way because I’m sure that, to them I am just some cold girl who didn’t give them the time of day. The deception of perception is fascinating.

But god, I’m hungry. I swear, if one of those boys dares to find my eyes, I might just have to devour him.

I wonder whose eyes I’ll reel in tomorrow and vice versa.

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Alexia

I drink, I laugh, I smoke, I write.

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