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.”