Staring at the mirrored door
with second checks,
She finally walked into the club,
teetering on strapped stilettoes.

Her body is sucked into a short skirt,
The scooped blouse shows off kind cleavage.
Her searching eyes danced around the room,
throwing ‘notice me please, otherwise I’m nothing’ glances.

With the hollow in her soul hidden in channels and Zara’s,
She was a peacock of pale skin
Shadowed by beautiful feathers.
Like a wounded work of art,
She was an arranged bunch of chaos.

Consumed with elegant steps,
Dishing smiles and throwing winks
Were the method to announce her value,
Until ankles swayed towards marble floor
Which welcomed her with a bruise
And flustered shame.

Thirty-two eyes stared;
Half blinking pity,
Half chuckling mockery.

With her heels doubled in ruins,
She stood up like an injured soldier,
Leaving behind the false sense of her self worth
Which shattered with the fall.

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