She sat at the window sill,
dreamed of a better world,
where she wouldn't need to pretend
to dream of light
to alienate the darkness,
the screaming whispers
of broken melodies.

She sat at the window sill,
dreamed of a better humanity,
to escape the cruelty
and the unknown cries
of whom crumbled her vision.

She sat at the window sill,
and dreamed of something else but herself,
because thinking about others was easier,
felt important and unattainable.  

She sat, and she dreamed of a better self,
where she would celebrate her wins,
like she reminds her losses.

She sat at the window
and was herself.
Static and **** of mendacity,
of prejudice.

She's not broken,
But she needs guidance.

She's not weak,
But she's fragile.

She's you,
and me.

**She's humanity.