skirt
rougher
than mine
her blouse
much more dirt
Her delicate face
more covered in mud
Her soft cheeks, crud
more stained with tears
Her pillow below her head
More filled with roaches black
Her shoes- what her mother made
holes burned by a virgin's high steps
Yet what have i? Really what have I?
I never before in lifetruly saw what have I
yet when I feel down to the soul of what I am
The girl on the street , her shoes have the cleanest sole of all
