I walk into the store,
The clerk stares at my face.
I walk down an aisle,
I can feel their eyes on my back.
I reach the rack of magazines,
They move toward me.
I look at them,
They're still looking down at me.
"Need anything?" a white man asks.
"No, thanks. Just looking."
Why are they watching every move I make?
Are they waiting for me to steal?
Their glare is beginning to burn,
I think it's time to leave.
The eyes follow me out,
as I exit the store.
This piece has been published in Teen Ink’s monthly print magazine.