She tucks her t-shirts into her skirt.
She died a streak of her hair in 4th grade.
She only played tag with others girls.
She won't tell her family she likes her,
she isn't afraid,
she just doen't need to.
A hero must be a hero to others,
in her eyes.
Wishing to blend in,
make everything about her life normal,
so the abnormal
can be embraced.
She holds her friend's hand in public.
Peachy kisses and thumb strokes push skin across knuckles.
This one is for the kids who hide their life under their beds,
who change in the bathroom not the lockers.
She is here so those who were once her,
can understand no one is that different.
This poem is about:
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