Who’s that Girl?

There she was, sitting in the darkest corner of the room

Looking down at her brown patterned skirt

Studying the intricate details

The interwoven pyramids on the woollen fabric

Too old-fashioned to be worn by a 16 year old girl


She could stare like this for hours

As if that skirt she wore every day

Could give her the answers… clues

To her millions of doubts taking all the space in her brain

All the energy she just couldn’t get to use in another way



“you have an ugly nose” they said

“you are not smart enough” they claimed

“you’re boring and strange” they condemned

“You don’t belong here. Go away” they spitted back

Go away, away, away… an echo in her head!


She still was sitting on the same chair in the same dark corner,

This time she looked up, straight ahead to a mark on the wall,

Something was different; is it her eyes?

Yes, her eyes – her dark pupils suddenly wide, like bullets waiting to dart

Malicious – radiating sparks of hostility


And her mouth? Twisted in a nasty smirk

Her left cheek slightly pushed up by the half smile pasted on her face

Her fingers slightly bent as if to grip something tightly

Her feet tapping impatiently… suddenly uncontrollably

And she stands up, rooted in place … unsafe


Freed from her vulnerabilities, at least for a moment

“Not this time you bastards!” she shouts

A voice I did not recognize; is that hers?

Tormented … a mingle of words resurfacing

Flashbacks and pictures coming to life


This ignites a flame long lost

The fighter in her to get back her life

She spits on the ground … vindictive

Clenching her palms into a fist

A step… one more … another… and another…


“Not this time you bastards!”



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