Denim This work is considered exceptional by our editorial staff.

I wear the new-to-me plum purple jeans
running down to my shoes,
in sync with the crumpled
brown rose-embroidered
fabric hugging my waist.

She wears her gentle white skirt.
The flow of the fabric
dancing down her legs,
accented by small French heels
the soft pink of a china doll’s blush.

I offer a small smile,
my green felt bag
held together with red yarn
falls to the floor as the strap
gives in, no longer willing to fight.

She turns up her nose,
her shimmering silver bracelet
glossy within the light
lets out musical laughter and
dances to and fro, filled with scorn.

I drop my eyes to the floor;
cold hands thrust in my pockets,
head turned away in defeat,
thin hair obscuring my face,
and edge away, as I always do.

She flicks blonde locks out of her face;
haughty smile painted across her cheeks,
clear eyes narrowed with malice,
chip-less red nails glimmering,
and strides away, as she always does.





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