As I read my article, the paper crinkling in my palm..as I crumple it anxiously.  You’re intently looking at me, but the word look is simple compared to the convoluted eyes you use when you look at me.  Eyes are the windows to the soul, but when I look at your eyes I don't see your soul, I see my reflection in the murkiness of your brown eyes, When you look at me I fall helpless, I grab for coverage, grasp for camouflage to hide myselffrom your eyes. Those eyes straining with truth.  It's as if you are completely tuned into every tickI make, every fast heartbeat, every thought that crosses my mind.  I feel like I'm cornered, like I'm being held by your eyes like I'm under a microscope, You’re studying me like I'm your test subject,you’re weighing my mentality, scaling my confidence. calculating my flickers of low self esteem.  But that is just the mental aspect.  As I hold this paper in my hands, and I usually don't pay attention to what my body does,but you, whenever I move my hands out of place, or dig at my fingernails, or clear my throat.. Your eyes shoot aimlessly in my direction,that's how I know to be self aware with the navigation your eyes project.  Sometimes it feels as though you are manipulating my self confidence just to see a ripple,just to get a sample of my persona, of my being, I'm trying to finish this article, and you are mulling it over..it's stirring in your head, a crock pot of ideas, of judgements,of profiles for every person in the room.  Yes it is biology class, but the teacher did not say watch your partner and calibrate her movements,her pulse, her fears. The teacher did not say pry for her dark secrets.  The teacher said read the article, not the human presenting it.But when you read me, when you watch me.. I feel, I fall into the position of being an antelope just minding her own, whereas you are the cheetah the predator that is eyeing me.. But I'm not your guinea pig, you cannot prod me with those eyes that carry a sharpness like no other.. that carry a cold stare..that's frankly bone chilling.  But in this moment you are not the objective scientist and I am not you're specimen. I cannot sit here and be picked apart.. cannot be puzzle solved in one swoop of a second, The scary part is, I don't know where to place you. When I think of your lack of expression, and you're probing analytical eyes..and you're lunatic like smile.. My mind ultimately classifies you as a psychopath, But I do not know you, I have not felt what being in a friendship is like with you..but for now, you're eyes..  The vulture eyes.. the scientist eyes..those dissecting unfeeling eyes. Keep them to yourself.  With most boys I'm with I always worry about what their hands will do,because hands are capable of so much, they are vehicles that men use.I always worry those hands will undress me, will touch me with a cold frigid graze.. When I look at a boy I look to their hands for answers, I look to their hands to measure and estimate if those handsare capable of bad things, But with you, I say keep your eyes to yourself,because those eyes when they look to me, fixate on me, It's as if my human husk is being peeled back,and I'm left vulnerable.. shivering in the glints of your curious eyes. It's your eyes I fear of, when concerning capabilityand unpredictability.   So do not undress me with your eyes,do not humiliate me with your eyes..do not concentrate on me like I'm a human jigsaw puzzle you’re trying to solve, I'm not a harmony out of tune, nor a clock that ticks out of itssequence.  I don't need to be fixed,or watched or probed for answers to your many questions about my character.  So feel free to revel in my open book personality, but do not, do not read between my lines..don't go searching for pieces of the puzzle that I have cut outpurposefully, Do not search with a fine tooth comb and magnifying glass and sleuth about trying to find what makes me tick,to find what makes me shake and tremble.  You can leave that question blank.