There she stands.

Panic-stricken.

Scared to death to be beautiful.

The word alone makes her feel ashamed.

Uninvited hands touch her.

They grope her hair,

Her thighs.

She has heard the sighs as she enters the room

But never lifts her gaze.

She has felt their eyes under her clothes.

She smells of rosewater and lavender.

Wants you to love her,

But as you approach she will always

Slip back into the shadows.

Placing the iris petals you have given her

Into her hair.

Holding onto her heart for dear life.

Hushed in the stillness

She disappears

Before your eyes.