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Can you see right through me?
Can you tell that I have no money?
Because I’m all dressed up,
    acting like I’m all that
    even though I’m not.
Is there a clue in my lowered eyes
    that gives away my disguise?
Screaming I’m not one of them,
I’m just passing through
I’m not buying anything
I just have nothing to do
The price tags astound me
I just got nowhere else to be
So I mingle with the bejeweled,
    signature-clad
    indifferent crowd
crossing my fingers
    my ordinariness
    doesn’t come off too loud.
One of them nods at me
    then moves on
I don’t know if I pass her scrutiny
or it’s her way of forgiving
the obvious fact that I don’t belong.
.
(Greenbelt 5, 11:00 am)
.

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