I see her suffering- her innocence and happiness being stolen            away, bit by bit.
I see the cold, calculating eyes that meet hers; they were once          the same eyes that she thought  looked at her with kindness        and warmth
I see her become frustrated with the people around her that are        changing; after all, isn’t age just a  number?
I see the anticipating expressions of her elders and watch her            become their beast of  burden, bound  by everything she            must do to please them; and when she fails to meet their            expectations,
I see her ashamed, apologetic eyes look at the ground and                squeeze shut to hold her hot tears back.
I see her playing music, but even then she is not playing- she is        working.
I see her being hollowed out, with only a shell of happiness              concealing the emptiness left behind.
I see her time being eaten away by a never-ending cycle of “I          have to” and “I don’t have time to”
I see her small frame crack and crumble under the weight of            stress, uncertainty, and panic.
I see her ripped and scarred by the failures that render her              successes obsolete.
I see her lie awake at night, for she feels sleep is a luxury                reserved for those that are perfect; and  during those dark          hours,
I see her piece her broken parts together for tomorrow to brave        the traps life has set for her,
Only to see her fall apart again.