The Morning Walk

I wander the streets 
in late mornings,
windblown hair brushing 
against my face,
jagged at the ends,
as if torn by a shark's teeth.

The eyes inside the booming cars 
pierce my thin skin.
I wear a sweater,
but it doesn't protect me 
from their glares.

I'm a pedestrian.
My slow steps and daydreams
get in the way of a world 
that needs to keep moving,
keep its children fed.

Escaping the Voices The night has fallen, turning the sky deep purple, the color of bruises. Outside the glass door of the place I call home, the noises, and the witchy voices on the intercom, are drowned out. Some men have tried to quell my anxiety. We've gone browsing in the shoe store, the phone company, to distract me from fears. But I've come back again and again, to hardened criminals with hard hearts. I've held them…