no tears slip off

her eyelashes

no laugh lines

crinkle her cheeks

she’s a broken doll

in mourning

the threads of her spirit

run deep


she smells

of rose-petalled flowers

life struggles

her living manual

yearning to please herself

in her fashion

a style

revealing her soul


onlookers sneer

 their tongues

wave like flags

inquisitive ears

sponge up rumours



and scornful


they remind her of rats

rummaging through garbage for snacks


a woman subjected

to cruel tones

now becomes eccentric


she’s strictly

an individualist

takes umbrage at remarks

and those who live to control








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