dandelions

Is this what it feels like?

To not be considered human?

To be some invalid,

Invisible thing

That almost nobody wants?

Is this what it feels like?

To be rejected and turned away?

Dolls, who you dress up in pink and white, 

dolls, who you take to the park or on a flight, 

dolls, who are made of plastic and cloth, 

they are always so girly, never unique or even goth.

The icy Penobscot wind cut through me like a blade as I stared at the crow, now just a crumpled shadow in the snow. My dad’s shot had silenced its call, and it lay there, broken and defeated, a symbol of my own helplessness.

I jump in my friend's car.

It's filled basically to the brim.

The area is small and compact.

How did she fit this many people in her tiny car?