My legs in fishnets

Dear man at Wawa who confronted my brother while we were getting coffee.

Dear man who has never seen me before or spoken to me or met me.

Dear man who has no influence on my life.

Dear man with ponytail.

I like my legs in fishnets simply because of the way they make me feel.

I have always seen women who wore them as these symbols of power and bravery.

Seriously, how can you not love the way perfectly sculpted legs look in them.

Legs that go all the way up.

Dear man who talks about how he'd never let his daughters leave the house looking like me.

You are not my daddy.

I don't need you to protect me from eyes like yours who look at legs like mine and think

“This is only okay if she wears them for me but how dare she go out in public dressed like a tramp.”

Dear man who doesn't own me.

I love my legs in fishnets.

And I love the way that the guy I really like looks me up and down, unwrapping me like a piece of candy with ever so observant eyes.

I am his.

My legs are his to kiss and

bite and

hold in place on either side of his head,

his shoulders,

his hips…

Okay, I got a bit off-topic there, but the point is,

I do not know you.

And I do not like how you remind me of a shark.

Circling your prey with those teeth ready to cut with a simple

“I don't mean to offend you.”

But here you go anyway.