You see that girl, right there?
Yes, she was with us.
But no one cared,
and she faded to dust.
A dusty photo in an album,
is all she'll ever be now.
Why, you might ask?
The real question is how.
Her art, from canvas of paper, wall and wrist,
screamed for her, screamed for bliss.
No one saw, and did anyone listen?
Absorbed in themselves,
they stacked her up high on a shelf,
thinking she'd always be there, thinking she wasn't good enough,
never thinking she'd care.
One day, she'd had enough.
Came home, sat and stared.
Her pretty, sharp paintbrush glared.
Six deep strokes, three on each side.
As her paint ran out, she allowed just one more thought.
"What if they lied, and I had been caught?"
You see, my pretty friend.
For this girl, that was the end.
She stares back up at us,
an obit. stained with coffee.
Just hoping, just praying, that someone finally sees.