Feet, clothed in designer leather,
Walk slowly toward me and rush quickly passed me
I’m not a beast; I’m not going to grab at your ankles.
I see the look you give me out of the corner of your eyes, I’m not blind, THAT, might make it easier.
They walk by; once again I am unnoticed.
I want to say “This, is not the real me, if you knew me you’d understand
I used to be attractive, confident, admired. Now I am abused, fragile ALONE.
Some blue and white stripes come closer, closer… I’m nervous and try to conjure up some strength,
They’re right in front of me, I look up to their owner. Slicked back hair, greasy spotty faced teenager. Here’s trouble I think to myself, surprisingly, a hand is offered, $1 in it, gesturing for me to take it.
I reach out my slender dirty fingers and then watch as the coin goes flying to the ground away from me.
I hear laughter from afar, the stripes retreat… I stay where I am, too ashamed to move, the laughter is louder and drenched with pride, immaturity & ignorance.
What have I become? An entertainer for the twisted, a fixture on the paving stones, a ghost…
Nobody cares, everyone disgusted by what they see
“It’s not my fault, I don’t have an addiction, I was a loving Mum and wife, good friend, a pillar of the community! I owned a home, car, clothes, the usual tat.
Then lost it all in the instant
© Kirsty ‘Mad Eye’ McIntosh 2008