The Girl with the platinum platformed heels walks with her head held high.
She ignores the snarls, and pretends not to hear them sigh.
If only they had walked in her platformed heels, oh, the pain they would learn to know.
Those shoes that brightened in the light, at night, would soon lose their glow.
The girl who dressed in platinum from her wig down to the polish of her toe,
with the brightest intuition, had become a menace to society.
A girl who was discriminated against because she didn't meet their status quo.
Judged by her appearance and not her mind.
Acceptance, assurance, stability and love became so hard to find.
Those platinum platformed heels had blindsided everyone to who she was, and the quantity and quality of her worth.
But to her they resembled and familiarized her with the overtime she'd put in at work.
A true soilder and survivor of the war led on the streets,
yet she could not escape the attention of the war strapped to her feet.
She would die before her family starved, and for that she sacrificed her self- respect.
but those shoes allowed other to look from a a whole different aspect.
A whore, tramp, fossil, prostitute, she had known every name in the book.
But still she could not heed that others had disowned her because of a look.
They had not searched for the true her, or into her true heart, made of true platinum.
She had come to terms with the human mentality and knew that no life was lived fair,
but thoes shoes she wore had hurt, and on those lonely streets she walk bare.