Once, there was a young lady,
Scuffed converses, pendant necklaces,
Fraying hoodie, shiny lip-gloss,
Headphones tangled like her thoughts,
With moonlit eyes, she searches the skies,
When asleep, seeks clarity from dreams,
Preoccupied with should and would have’s,
Keep dormant angry outburst at bay daily,
Yet bruises are painted on to skin,
Insults follow her down halls,
Troubles considered inconvenient,
Scared as voice dies in her throat.
Maybe things will get better,
When she’s older
