Let me show you my new dress.
It was cheap.
wear and tear-article,
patchwork of crushed hopes
belonging to some little child
in a factory
you made this for me?
now I can stand here, in the roaring crowd
at the eye of the town square
tiptoeing all over the sharp stones of existence
showcasing just how normal, stuck-up and
indifferent I am
But then I bled trough.
It happened quickly.
I didn’t even notice the tear in the fabric
until some kid pointed at my stomach and laughed.
“Look! She’s wounded! She can’t even walk!”
his mother hushed him, dragging him away from me
“We need to be grateful for all we have,” she said.
I scurried home,
tears pouring down my cheeks
I locked myself in my bedroom and spent the rest of the day
wrapping myself up in linens
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