January 15, 2009
The look of innocence was on her face,
Knowing not of the reality
Yet to come.
Seh glanced around,
The faces glaring back.
They all knew her name,
But not who she really was.
She had a tattoo
In the middle of her back,
Of a tenor sax,
With a finish of dark purple,
The color of a bruise,
Surrounded by black, wilted music notes
In a cloud of smoke.

She was a true poet,
Writing 'bout a life
Opposite her own.
Of rainbows and ponies,
And falling in love.

No one took the time to know her,
No one looked at her
With concern or care.
But they all lost that chance,
One dark April day.
The day she lost her life.

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MsRocker said...
Feb. 14, 2010 at 12:59 pm
wow the last stanza is amazing thats how i feel like people just walk by me and dont care wether or not i exist or take time to care about me. you explained it very welll, thank you. great job
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