Her hair is the disheveled label of manic misadventure,
her grey coat splattered with the drool of depression
her shoes, each different and each well-worn, schizophrenic.
She shuffles from doorway to doorway smiling,
her eyes deep dark orbs that have seen discrimination in all forms,
her lips tight shut and stern, afraid to speak her mind.
She welcomes intrusion as a safety net from a crazy world,
the taste of liquor the only medication that made her happy,
her wrists and forearms scarred with the doctors promise.
Now she passes like a will o the wisp, shameless and without guilt,
her mind swimming in her dressing state, tomorrow a string bikini
in a Wellington wind bent on sending everyone to hell and back.
Tonight she will dine in the bins outside Maccas and BK,
tonight she will drink from half fill bottles,
tonight she won’t dare dream about the kids she left behind.
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