Title: Walk in the sun
by Emily from South Yorkshire | in writing, poetry
I walk in the sun, past people in life
Look down at myself: twisted, hideous.
Yet they look straight through me
Like I'm not even there.
Why don't they stare?
I walk in the sun, past birds in the trees
Run my hand on my skin: calloused, distorted.
Yet they carry on singing,
They don't take to the sky.
Why don't they fly?
I walk in the sun, past my friends without me
Think of what has happened: violent; decadent.
Yet they don't ask what's wrong,
And it doesn't seem fair.
Why don't they care?
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