She is a storm
Thick skinned and set in stone.
She lifts her feet and follows the North East Wind,
Detecting a presence beyond means of emotion
Skimming skyscrapers, who try to protect the cafe on Shore Road.
Happily, the women drink their skimmed lattes
Laughing over how ugly she looked last week.
Her face was too fat, so she cut out her cheeks,
Her nose was too long, so she broke it and put it out of place.
They said her eyes where too blue, so she blotted them with purple dye.
Her hair was too thick, so she pulled it all out and wore a wig.
She looked into the mirror today and found Barbie staring back,
Everything was plastic so tears could not be shed.
It was too late to reincarnate her beloved face, she was gone.
The women still laughing as she fights the tormented demons,
Eating her insides, full fat yoghurt curdling in the sunlight.
She snapped, a child bending a ruler too far in class.
Now she grasps the air she pushed out to let her fit into that size 4 dress.
The women seated like hyenas, waiting for a pig to eat and laugh at
Again and again, over and over.
The radar has picked up signs of anguished winds.
She is here, to fight, for she has nothing more
But a barely beating heart and a single coin.