If you bothered to look
into the shadows of my soul -
beyond the brash, false lights
and hustle-bustle of everyday life,
into the alleyways of my heart -
in the very center
of this superficial activity
is a tiny girl-child.

Huddled -- Hiding

Her face is layered with the dust
of neglect.
Tracks of tears
pattern her translucent, hollowed cheeks.
She would weep still if she had tears left.
She drapes herself in darkness,
not able to bear
the false promises of light.
Her emaciated little form shrinks away,
afraid to be discovered -
not wanting to be used as plaything
by you again.

No one sees her.
They all walk by,
unaware of her.

All she has is a rough, tattered bear.
She clings to it,
dreaming of softness.
Wondering if she will ever be held in return.

Less and less often
she reaches out spindly arms.
Hoping...
but convinced that she will die alone.
And not even she will have known who she was.