Day after day,
she leans her
plain,
thin
frame against the cold, hard
brick walls
that outline her
faintly.
The majority of her school's population
mills about her,
laughing with friends,
shuffling through halls,
existing.
She does not join in the fray.
She mooves not a muscle.
If you would stop,
if I would stop,
we might see that she
has perfect,
white teeth
behind the metal braces.
If we would listen,
we would find that her voice is lovley,
can fill an
entire room
with
music
when given the chance.
We might relize that her eyes are windows
to her fenced-in soul,
grimed by years of unegknowlagement,
smudged by the fingerprints
of those who
just
keep
walking.
But if we squint,
If we rub some residue away,
the silent pleading
and desperation
that resides within her
will be visible.

Finally,
She will be seen.