Sad life with no meaning

Not a word fell from her lips

All that was heard were the scribbles

“Who was she again?”

Murmurs crowed and wondered

Not one had heard a thought

Fall from her thin lips

Only scratches evenly paced are heard

No one could image, what life she lived

To them she was ghost

Little did they know

Everything she had seen stayed with her

She observed and analyzed

That was all or so they thought

But everyone wants a voice

Strong and powerful

Elegant and coherent

She had one too

Only did they realize the truth

When all laid bare and exposed

Presented for them to lay witness

Her voice, resounded

The soul they pitted, deemed inferior, and mistreated

Rose and gained dignity

She was alive in her writing.