As she sat alone at night, orange peel staining the sheets, glasses of unfinished milk scattered around her room, she questioned all of the things that had brought her to this moment. She thought back to that moment when she was eight years old and threw her Spice Girls lunch box at a boy in the year below because he was talking too loudly. She feared all the mistakes she had made and all of the choices that she had got wrong. In the abyss between awake and sleep, she tried to clasp on to the tiny self inside of her that whispered: this is what was supposed to happen. But unfortunately, on this particularly night, that self could not be heard over the waves that crashed around inside her head.
Where is the girl now? Is she a leader of the world? Or has she fallen in-between the cracks, buried beneath the soil of a world in which she never belonged in the first place.
Pink. Not baby kind of pink but that real deep pink, pink. A pink that knows who it is and isn't afraid who knows it. A pink that says: I am here, this is me, I am okay. A hood engulfs her like a bear protecting its cub. Overlarge sleeves rolled up to the wrist reveal a patchwork lining that say: There’s more to me than you think.
Two pockets deep enough to fit 3 apples a lip balm and a penguin bar. Not so deep that you could smuggle a box of popcorn in the cinema unseen. Walking down the street
she can feel the eyes on her. Invincible, a warrior wearing an armour going into battle,
like a superhero.
People swarm around her amongst the grey and noise she hears a gasp as she walks down the grey city streets. She doesn't look but she knows it's because of her. Because of this coat.
A young boy who creeps into his mothers bedroom at night to wear her dresses knows a great pair of shoes that will go perfectly with that coat.