YWP

When a name is said

It echoes

Dreary and sad

I'd rather not have a name

So I cannot be defined

Or have a name

That remains unknown

To thoughts and words surround

I try to notice things others wouldn’t,

but sometimes it’s as hard as finding a certain star

in the night sky full of millions that reflect like a mirror.

Although, for all the small things I take note of,

The spark of a lighter ignites her morning

Her pipe lies resting on her lips

It is a deep brownish purple color tattered with flecks of dark ash

"You're so mature!" 

They say to me, 

as they pinch my cheeks 

and hug me close. 

I scowl at them.

 I feel so odd.

 I'm young, but mentally old.

I'm still a kid 

It was just a fluke that I happened to see

The ghost of a girl in 1893

I didn't think much of her, tried to ignore

But then she came 'round in 1894

A spirit was not something that I had wanted

You are allowed to change.