“I am a rare species, not a stereotype.”
Ivan Coyote

She sat alone, huddled
Against the cold
On the schoolyard,
A little girl of only six;
The other children
Swarmed around her,
Their laughter ringing
Through the air
As they ran and darted
In play.
They paid cursory attention
To the little girl,
She who did not fit
Into their pigeon-holes,
Who did not lessen herself
To have their approval,
So time wasn't something
They were willing to waste
On one with seemingly so little
To recommend her.
So she kept to herself,
And to her own world,
Where beauty and honor
Were requisites not restricted
To outer consumption.
Her voice was rarely heard
Above the shouts and voices
Of the other children,
And yet,
No one was ever mistaken
About who she was and
Where she stood
Even at her young age.

c.2023