Crowded rooms never felt so empty
and voices never sounded so fake.
Cunning and wit are lost upon them
as their jest and jeers all rake
thin ribbons across a fleshy face.
Though they are called friends,
these strangers are aliens, obscure.
These hands are new, this face young yet
this age, trapped within, holds no allure,
to a girl so old, locked in this case.
Her speech is wrong and off,
with eyes a million miles away.
This body of a child is all they view
assuming it has nothing of value to say.
Their ignorance may be her coup de grace.
To stay a little boy forever,
what a dream it must have been.
But she is no Peter, and she longs,
longs to grow and stretch her skin.
This old soul just wants to take her place.