Swinging and swaying
Walking like a peacock
Face whiter than snow
With charcoal-like hands
She graced the streets
Perfume louder than shots
Knocking air out
From those rushing past
She and them seemed
To be of different worlds
Yet nobody could tell
What was behind her
Cool composed mask
Outside she was a gem
Made of pure silver
But deep inside
Was mountains of chaos
Which would rise
In the dark cold nights
Soaking her pillow
With streams of tears
As she hid behind the
strong mahogany door
Brought about by
Struggles she’s been
For the hourglass shape
They gazed at in awe
With mouths agape
True piece of perfection
An embodiment of beauty
Was filled with darkness
Backed by ugly shadows
All because a society
Needed more and more


2 thoughts on “THE MINI SKIRT GIRL

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