She roams alone,
Dodging her peers’ uneasy glances
And ensuing catty whispers.
She is the black sheep
Of black sheep.
No one can comprehend her.
No one tries.
They ignore her,
The passel of scars that maim her,
Carved into both flesh and mind.
To them she is worthless,
A rag doll to be hurled into the corner of a room,
Never to be seen again.
They don’t know about her:
The hell she faces
When she walks through the front door.
The drunken father
Who uses her as a punching bag.
Nobody cares.
Invisible to them,
She is a stranger among the shadows,
A ghost who does not haunt.
She is a black canvas.