Mikayla Haberbosch

Little lady,
dressed in white.
Little lady,
so contrite.
...

Why me?
Why was I chosen,
To be special?
Why me of all people?
...

I try not to think about it,
To dwell on the past,
But the memories creep in,
And make the tears flow fast.
...

I’m scared,
So scared.
Scared of living,
Scared of believing.
...

Living with hate,
Guilt,
Fear.
Hating the human race,
...

The sweetest kiss I’ll ever get,
Is the sweetest kiss of death.

Its dark embrace,
...

Surrounded by people,
She is so alone.
She lays in her bed,
Numb to it all.
...

Darkness shrouds her face,
and veils her eyes with pain.
No longer caring who sees,
she sits alone and slowly dies,
...

Alone in her room,
she begins to cry.
Her hair in her face,
her hands are tied.
...

Sitting.
Lonely.
They think, she’s cool.
Brave.
...

I sit and wait.
Waiting for someone to know my heart,
To share my fears.
Someone who has felt my pain,
...

They tell her she has potential,
If only she would apply herself.

They tell her she has a gift,
...

She lays on her bed,
And the memories come.

She closes her eyes,
...

Quietly,
She begins to cry.
She fears a sob,
Or a single sound.
...

No matter what she does,
She can’t hide it anymore.

Her eyes,
...

When will we laugh?
When will we cry?
When will we live?
When will we die?
...

She is searching,
Reaching out,
Trying to find someone,
Anyone who can understand.
...