She’s just another kid on the block,

Independent dress style; wearing two different multicolored socks,

She has a hole in left shoe from kicking the misplaced sticks and rocks,

From the front pocket of her sweater she pulls out a stick of white chalk,

To color her name at the end of the broken sidewalk,

The neighborhood boys would run by making faces and mock,

She would sit against the paint-peeled fence and wait for the last chime of the church clock,

To walk back home, still too nervous to talk,

At school she shuffled along in the overfilled halls,

Clutching her class books underneath her arms so they wouldn’t fall,

Hoping no one would seek the reason as to why she doesn’t speak,

Or the jagged and deep cuts hidden beneath her baggy long sleeves,

She needs someone to listen, who she can trust and be forgiven,

But no one is able to see through her invisibility cloak, her prison.

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