Have you seen her?
That raincloud girl?
Who’s father beat like thunder
With words that cut like lightning
Who’s sunshine mother warmed all
But never stopped the storm from coming.

Have you seen her?
That handmedown girl?
Passed from one family to another
With constant conflicting opinions
And a borrowed sense of conviction
That never quite fit her right.

Have you seen her?
That sad little girl?
Who grew up believing in faerie-tales
With faith in every misspoken sentence
Who waits on every text message
Despite the repeating heartbreaking goodbyes.

Have you seen her?
That copycat girl?
Who somehow never changes
With her fragile coat of innocence
Who looks like me in mirrors
But she will never be again.

There are no pictures of the forgotten child
just second hand memories
of a police station handmedown
and too many mothers.

There are no echoes of my smile to be found in family albums

No book to lovingly hold the dates of firsts unwitnessed by love.

Yellowed paper bears witness to my existence, a name given, typed above that of an unknown Father and a mother too new to bear my needs.

There are no tales of first days and birthdays, no tears of joy at my arrival, nor at my loss.
Just me, a girl with no past and a stolen future, screaming at shadows while clutching at straws, hoping that someday my face will be reflected by that which I did not create.

When I was
eight years old
reality
was the stupid
grey
oversized
handmedown
jacket
my mom
made me wear
for the
sneering
entertainment
of my peers
and the future
contained
nothing
better
that
I could even
imagine