tagNon-Erotic PoetryOn Washington Street

On Washington Street


The ones on Washington Street watch me,
hollow smiles and cold dark eyes.
Shells of shells of shells of girls
don’t bother with disguise.

They hold their ground. I keep my pace.
Their rules I am yet unaware -
they’ve cast aside their perfect skins.
I can’t imagine what we share.

One morning as I’m walking home,
last night stained upon my skin,
I see myself in those dark eyes:
a boundary crossed, a veil too thin.

Somewhere someone didn’t play fair;
a faded girl, a broken doll.
We’re not so different, I think.
No, not so different at all.

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byScheherazade73© 1 comments/ 680 views/ 0 favorites

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