Trip.
Fall.
Laughter.
Whisper, point.
Mockers mock and jibe.
The girl slowly pushes herself
up off the ground, dusts off her clothes, and picks up her things, ignoring the looks, ignoring the laughter, ignoring the rumors and the cruel lies.
Head held high, gaze like steel, she looked at the mockers, looked so hard at them that they turned with one last sneer and walked away. The girl smiled and, too, left.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
I love this.You kept me wanting to read more about the character! You took me on a journey! And the ending was kind of a open door for assumptions!