She stands at the window
like she does every night,
[like this is just any other night.]
Observing the reflection in the glass--
thin cheeks, thin lips, thin neck. Ghostly pale.
This is who I am, she screams,
[but no one hears.]
Choking beneath invisible labels;
she’s a “rebel” and a “fighter” and she’s different,
--Oh so different--
Because she has to be. Because they think she is.
But all she wants
[hopes, prays,]
is for one (1) boy to really see her.
Not so different. Actually,
it’s clichéd, and she’s unwilling to show it.
When she does, eventually, she won’t be different anymore.
--She’ll be a nobody again--
And while the lies are heavy [drowning under their weight]
The worst thing she can imagine is to be
the same.