She wears black and white
or white and black
her hair is always up
always the same
she hasn't washed it for a week
her platforms elevate her to new heights of happiness
she walks with her back straight and head up
but her eyes are wounded and she says she doesn't care
she only wears flares and tank tops
she wears black and white
or white and black
scarred soul
scared girl
she balances precariously on a second-hand bike
people confuse our voices
people say things out of earshot
not noticing me noticing them
and I realize that
she has become me, destined to follow my pattern