Sometimes, or most times, or every time,
I find eyes prying, preying, poking…
I feel like turning them off,
like a tap overrunning,
like a blinding light.
I find day transparent,
light naked.
I avoid street-lighted streets,
peopled places.
Night feels secure,
Silent streets a bliss
Lonely paths hand me liberty
Empty rooms make me free and me!
I find eyes prying, preying, poking…
But it’s what I do for a living.
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© 2026 Chris Psalmuel. Published on Adroit Creators with the creator's permission. The creator keeps the copyright in this work, and it may not be reproduced without their consent.
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