Will you write something to go with these thoughts that might make a poem someday?

The eyes; always the eyes, glaring at you; studying you. You casually turn your head, but they're too quick for you, turning away before you can meet their glance. You survey the room and feel the eyes again. This time you catch them. They hold their stare just long enough to telegraph subtle feelings, then glance away. The message coming from the eyes with the cold, emotionless face..."You're not wanted here." Hostility without ever having met or talked with you. For reasons known only to them, you're a threat. You've invaded their territory and have been extended an invitation to leave.