Their eyes.

The men, they stare at my body,
Like it's made for their eyes,
Scanning each part of me,
But isn't that just guys?

Maybe not, but that's what I believe,
Passing down the same street,
Receiving the same stares, each day,
Maybe to say this, is discreet.

Earphones on, and eyes on the road,
I pass a man looking at me,
But not my face and not my shoes,
Everything below my neck and above my knee.

I was told not to walk alone,
For the darkness of the night isn't secure, they say,
But do men really need the darkness?
They do it in the broad daylight, anyway.