streets

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As a child I would walk through the street. I would walk holding my mother's hand excited for what was to come. I would run through shops exploring all the different items. Feeding my curious mind. But now all grow up. Covered in makeup. Still holding my mother's hand like I am in a unfamiliar land. People don't know but I see the looks. I see the looks of elders. Their eyes looking me up and down like I'm a prized pig at a fair. Their eyes stopping at my stomach. My stomach which I left bair all because my confidence was in the air. But now I take my coat that rested on my shoulders and tie it round my waist. We all know we rather be cold then seen as a slut. So now I walk along. Confidence down the drain. Thoughts rushing through my brain. But yet I still notice. I still notice the men looking at me like I'm a display. Yet they have a woman on their arm. The woman that is an image of who I want to be. Yet they still look at me. So I look down as tears fill my eyes. I just want to crawl in the ground and cry. I look at my mother. Her smile still strong. I envy her. I envy her curls and curves. I love my mother. She know not of the Thoughts in my head. But the smile on her face brings my comfort inside. So I walk down the street, ignoring the stares. But the voice in the back of my head knows they are still their.

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