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Why I struggle with the Mall.

I can't explain it.
But I gotta be honest
The rush, the buzz, the colors, the lights
they make me sick
sometimes.

I shy from
the smiling people dashing at me from their kiosks 
ready to explain to me how their wooden plaque from Bethlehem is the quintessential item to complete my holiday mantlepiece (I don't even have a mantlepiece)
or how their hand-crafted-super-scented-explosive-bath-bombs are surely going to make my skin sparkle (sorry guys, I'm not into the vampire look)
or how the makeup fiends notice that I left the house un-painted today and are ready to pounce and explain how their mineral makeup magic will transform my look (they don't know that I left the house granola because... well, because today I wasn't in the mood to be done up, and I'm perfectly confident walking around makeup-less while wearing my Jurassic Park t-shirt and my hair in a messy bun).

I struggle with the "sale" signs
because their "sale" rack hosts numbers that mach what I find to be regular-rack prices elsewhere.

I struggle with the people
hosts and hosts of people
and I worry about them
carrying bushels of bags with their arms as rungs
and I'm not sure if they could afford it in the first place...
...but why is it that I care so much?
because I don't know them
and their financial fancies aren't my place to think about
but for some reason I really, really do care
and I wonder
and I hope they have wiggle room for groceries
and hope they didn't #overshopoverspendoverdoit
to try and feel better about other problems
instead of facing them head on.
And then I freak when I wonder
if I'm one of those people
that I wonder and worry about?
And I double check my arms
and wonder if I could have done without.

I struggle with the mall
sometimes.







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