Crowded rooms never felt so empty

and voices never sounded so fake.

Cunning and wit are lost upon them

as their jest and jeers all rake

thin ribbons across a fleshy face.

Though they are called friends,

these strangers are aliens, obscure.

These hands are new, this face young yet

this age, trapped within, holds no allure,

to a girl so old, locked in this case.

Her speech is wrong and off,

with eyes a million miles away.

This body of a child is all they view

assuming it has nothing of value to say.

Their ignorance may be her coup de grace.

To stay a little boy forever,

what a dream it must have been.

But she is no Peter, and she longs,

longs to grow and stretch her skin.

This old soul just wants to take her place.