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MockedI'm the girl who is always mocked for how i look
For how i dress
What music i listen to
I sit in bed and cry
Not because of what they say hurts
Because it does
But because I'm not appreciated
Wondering down a path
I try my best
But nothing works
I don't eat because I'm "too fat"
I listen to my music loud to block all the words
Those words that will stick in my head
Make me cut again
I don't want that
I just want to be freed
I feel so trapped
I cant explain it
I begin to have feelings for someone
They aren't ever mutual
I sit and realise
Once again my hopes are dashed
Its a vicious cycle
I've never been told how to love
I've never experienced it
I feel empty
Yet tears slowly roll down my flushed cheeks
Has taken hold of me
The Coffee GodThe Coffee God behind the counter shuffles foot to foot, a dance of steam and espresso. Black painted fingernails, inch gauged ears and a gray striped sweatshirt, hood crooked on his back. There's a cigarette tucked behind one ear; it bobs and twitches with each step.
“Non-fat caramel latte,” he calls, just as he always does, part of a spell, part of a mantra, toneless (just a tuck at the end). I reach. He looks up.
The espresso maker hisses.
There's something like a grin, something like a spark, something like a shared secret linked eye to eye. When he passes over the drink (rough cardboard sleeve hot to the touch), he lingers. Our fingers brush, a shiver, a jolt, a ten-watt shock.
The Coffee God tilts his chin, shouts, “Hey, mind if I take my break now?”
and ducks around the counter without waiting for a reply.
He slips his cigarette between his lips without taking his eyes from mine. I follow him out the door.
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