Young Writers Project

I stopped standing the day that everyone else stopped standing for us

I have not put my hand over my heart in over a year because what is there to hide?

I was born here with the blonde hair and blue eyes

Ma had lots of heels she’d promised to give me.
 

Stilettos, kitten heels, and a daring red. 
 

Scuffed and worn, 

yet donned like designer.
 

the year,

just days i crossed off on the calender,

time elapsed too fast for my slow pace,

i sprint to catch up, 

yet i am left behind,

crying,

screaming,

is anyone still here with me?