windblown, she walks.
writing her name in red, her fingertips wet
with her own blood.
hiding behind her hands, she never
gets a chance at the spotlight.
frozen in time, she stays behind
when everyone moves forward.
off balanced and graceful,
she twirls. dancing in her mind.
she takes the hand of a stranger,
clinging helplessly to the hope she lost long ago.
alone is cliche, so she must be too.
nobody sees her, nobody cares
about the girl, flitting in and out of our world.

who's to say we should?