lonesome

in the dark corner of a lunchroom, she sits

with an indigo binder clutched to her chest

 a seldom frown  threatens across her lips.

she hears the old thrum of the voices around her,

voices laced with frivolity

a muffled rhythm of glib. 

they comment on the weekend parties,

 on the girl in the dark corner, 

and on the money of strangers.

their words plunge into the chest of others,

an irreverent jab infused with a sting.

penetrating through the heart,

their sneers bolt like a million darts.

the girl in the dark corner listens.

her frown becomes more apparent

the indigo binder strains and crinkles against her chest

like a heart that shrinks at the touch of detest.

her world begins to weigh heavier on her shoulders 

as she carries the burden like a solider.

the girl in the dark corner continues to sit, 

a salty sting in her eyes causing a pool of tears.

as they trickle down her cheeks and neck, 

she perks her head up and looks directly at me, 

a gaze of familiarity.

i stare for longer, 

lost in her comfort, 

it’s her, and she is me,

my repressed memory.

it’s her, and she is me, 

she is all that can set me free. 

the muse ahead of me, 

is the truth i keep encased,

her face was never her’s, but the bareness of my own face.