Boy's Eyes

I remember the speckles on the wall quite clearly.
            My eyes
      focused on them, the sounds
of bare feet striking the tile
and high-pitched
   voices.
I trace triangles in the cracks,
     slide my knee pads on.
(I need
       the
            protection.)

      I cannot look up.
The second I turn away from this corner,
My eyes become a boy's eyes.
                       Is
                       something
                       wrong
                       with
                       me?
All I can see
    is the curve
       of her shoulders
          and her long
             legs
               in her spandex.
Do the others have this problem?
                   No.
I see empty girl's eyes when I look at them.
Wish I had those
       empty
           simple
               cheerful girl's eyes.

I hide in the corner, and they ask me
                         why I am so quiet,
              I cannot answer,
        I am speechless at the
    long
         dark
              hair that tumbles
          over her
     neck
and chest
         and brushes her ribs.

I want to play the game, too.
Just like them.
But I can't.
I can't, unless I rip
these boy's eyes
out from beneath
my girl's eyelashes.
I lose myself in running
           and leaping
               and striking the ball with the anger and the fear
       that these boy's eyes
     might be noticed
and I will be an exile.

I slip into my uniform day after day
and stare at the wall
and wait until the locker room
is empty until I turn around
and pick up my things
and brush tears out of my boy's eyes
as I walk away from the wondering.