Poetry for the Dead

The Little Girl in the Back of the Art Room

There is a little girl in the art room
She towers above the rest
With a height she will look at as a curse
Her hair is not in delicate braids like the other girls
Because her mother's hand shakes too much from her sickness to weave the little girls hair
She will not speak too you unless you really try to figure out what is happening behind her sea-green eyes
And then you will find words
Words that are not said by normal second graders
But should be
She says words that are connected like constellations into long eloquent sentences that gives her a large amount of intelligence
But that is ignored because she has a C in math
She is not considered pretty by the boys
Because she has a large nose and ears that stick out
This kills her
Because she has not learned yet that her worth is not determined by how many stupid boys think that she is pretty
No one seems to notice her
Unless they are saying things about her that will haunt her even when she has moved away from them
No one wants to be her friend
Because she is too quiet
And she doesn't understand what 'sex' is
And everyone else seems to know this valuable secret about how a baby is made but her
One girl even wore a bra
She's very popular because of it
Too bad the little girl in the art room doesn't wear a bra
Because maybe then she'd be worthy of her classmates' attention
Maybe then she'd be considered pretty
Maybe then her only friend wouldn't be the janitor
Maybe then she'd wouldn't be afraid to talk
Maybe then she wouldn't start crying in the middle of class
Maybe then she wouldn't hear any bad things said about her
But the little girl doesn't wear a bra
She is afraid of speaking,
She feels as though she owes it to her classmates to keep her strange thoughts in her own head
So she sits in the back of the art room
And she works silently on her ripped-up paper owl
Only talking occasionally to ask for glue from the other kids at her table that are considered 'freaks'
She feels like a painting that stands alone in a corner of the room
Isolated
There is a little girl in the art room
And she simply does not fit in

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a/n: so I wrote this a while ago, and this makes it sound like my childhood sucked, but it didn't really, it was just school that sucked, everything else was pretty great

so don't feel sorry for me, I wrote this when I saw a bunch of girls from my old school that were mean to me