I once believed that I could change the world.
It was fifth grade,
before airplanes struck the twin towers,
before an incredible woman lost her life,
before I had even started to write.
She was poor–
her worn shoes and oversized clothes
told the story her lips never spoke.
Everyone knew, and they
left her on the outside,
as if her brown ratty hair
was her own fault.
I gave her all I knew to give,
sitting beside her and
learning her name,
becoming her friend.
I think I made a difference,
before the bullies taught me to
turn my head,
let them use my brain
and they’d ignore me,
even pretend I was one of them.
That was before my heart knew tragedy
and pen on paper became my escape,
before the innocence of my youth