If you squint from the outside, it’s hard to see,
But a little doubt grows, quietly, inside her.
Should she rush, should she dash, as she strolls down the street?
As shadows grow longer, what’s waiting to greet?
Is it wise to hold eye contact, meet their bold stare,
Or just keep walking, pretend she doesn’t care?

If you squint from the outside, you might miss the game,
But here she is, playing, though nothing’s the same.
The world’s just a shelf, stocked high with delights—
Pick your pleasure, take your pick, avoid the fights.
Is she just another item...