Broken Mannequin’s Receipt
Abused tears left home, hating the transition from a girl to a woman. To fast, to stern, overwhelmed.
I didn’t know what was happening.
Such a little mind destroyed by the reek of sick obscure alcohol. My only hope laid there terrified eyed, paralyzed by the sharp brutal slap of his hand.
Looking ahead, I run, tripping over from shoe laces to heels. Tears wipe off as fast as time went by.
Now alone in darkness no longer have a sense of sight. I hear honks, whistles of usual nights. Not running anymore but w a l k I n g.
Shiver to feel as of a lifeless old newspaper article watering the sidewalks.
I used to run as much as I did hoping. Now that little one is gone, dead, just the thrown torn, recycled paper.
I’m the article; you read but never know the real story. The article you tell your sister never to be. The one you feel pity for.
As I get into another driving vehicle of the past, I close my eyes till it’s over, becoming blind in heels, just another reader…
- $4.life
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