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Maria, 16 She’s walking home from school So youthful, so innocent Just like they like them Next to her a car slows down How peculiar, don’t you think? Then something happens
they all give me wary eyes cross the road to avoid crossing paths pull their children closer holding them tighter the drunk men hoot at my covered behind "Allahu Akbar" they say
Their eyes trace my skin Like fingers on a page. Their words find my ear With laughter coarse as sandpaper. The whistles echo In the din of the street, And although I am surrounded
The insecurites felt by woman all around easily outweigh the blank smiles on their faces. Walking the streets, car keys in hand, finger almosts pressing the panic button just in case. Scared. Worried. Panic. Called Paranoid.