It starts as a whisper
And it grows
A flip of the hair
Curiosity flows
The majesty in a walk
Interest tows
Chance meetings
Are planned stows
Hoping to share a glance
Desperation sows
Reality takes over
Sadness woes
It returns to a whisper
No one ever knows

Call my name,
see the ghost of the past I became.

Of this world, I am lost in the shadow
left to feed off the old war’s debris.
It’s too big for an innocent child
that is forced to grow up, don’t you see?

In the village, I walk unnoticed –
every grownup stares right through me.
On my tasks, I try to stay focused,
while the one thing I want is to scream.

Scream out loud at the people, the street
to be heard for a second, be seen.
In this world, do I even exist?
How, a child, would I even know this?

Call my name,
bring me back to the living, again.

I'm a streak of amber,
on a canvas splashed in gold,
waiting to be noticed, to be loved,
before I fade away with time,

Desperation eats at my soul
As I constantly want for more likes
More notices
But when they never come
My mind clouds with the possibility
That they never will
And no one will ever notice
When I have gone
And where I went
I plead with desperation to the world
'Accept me, accept me!
For I am just human
I am just like you!
Please accept me
if it's the last thing you do!'
But I have learned
That not everyone is in agreement with my personality
And not everyone will find a way to accept me
But the people I love
Have accepted me and all my flaws
And for that I am grateful
But I still have all that desperation

This morning, the world woke up without me.
Daylight crested above the trees, where bird-songs filled the crisp winter air and squirrels began scurrying through frost-bitten yards.
                                                          ­                                Neighbors went about their day, putting children on school buses before bustling themselves to work. The mailman came and left, dropping off packages filled with useless purchases and magazine subscriptions that sit piled in corners, gathering dust.
Hallways filled with swarms of students eager for the final bell. Lockers slammed and classroom seats filled, my desk being the only one left empty
                                                           ­                               (second row from the front, farthest to the right or left, whichever was opposite of the door. Perfect view of the clock, the whiteboard, the teacher, and everyone who entered and exited the room.)
Emails went unanswered, books left unfinished, my room left untouched... a thin layer of dust began to collect atop my existence that went unnoticed.
                                                      ­                                  
Unnoticed by them, unnoticed by you.