Lying supine on a child’s bed,
new sunlight plays upon her golden ringlets
as another day awakes
Bright blue eyes blink at the new morning;
she sighs at the sound of
grown-ups making breakfast.
Afraid to rise, she clutches the duvet
and asks her Maker for the millionth time,
“Why am I so?”
Throwback! Alien! Changeling! Freak!
How cruel the spoken word.
Insults hurled - or whispered in fear . . .
Ah, but “One in a million!” her mother proclaims,
“So great a heart! So great a spirit!”
If only she knew.
Angelina smiles a bitter smile,
and pushes her tiny face deep into the down-filled pillow.
She begs for death, and whispers “I am nothing.”