As i walk down the street,
Faces are starring attentively at me,
Sizing me up through a simple guess,
And by the size of my party dress.
Accusations are all around,
Whispers and judgements - i can hear their sound,
At every corner, a new story is born,
And given life by a prickly thorn.
These stories that have been created,
They are not me,
And i gave you no such reason,
To indeed believe.
You see i am quite puzzled...
Did i wrong you in any way?
Did i crush you feelings or make you desire to run away?
Did i turn your blue skies into a harsh shade of grey?
Funny, now i hear not a whisper,
Just silence and heads as low as can be,
You see, i did not a hurtful crime to you,
But you have done many to me.
-Jasmine Barlas
