Transitioning to a Statistic

Image: Masaaki Komori

Image: Masaaki Komori

She weeps

She weeps behind closed doors, locked gates, hidden walls

She weeps to hide what is left of the broken face she bears

She weeps an endless river, one to drown in like a fool

Doused in her own pity, her soul the ignition which burns her only hope

Self destructive is what some may call her because anger is the only emotion that can afford her

Exhausted from what little patience she has, she prays

She prays to feel hope again

She prays to live in a world with no pain

She prays to be happy in the small treasures she has 

She prays and prays for an unknown and undesirable future because what more can she do?

16 years old with only 14 years left in her life expectancy

Survival already guaranteed by North American Statistics

Forgotten lies that hide within the numbers

30 is the haunting double-digit she hopes to overcome

But what future is there left to seize?

Written in stone, engraved in her skin, like sharpie on paper

The reminder is permanent on her body

A cry for help, words louder than ambulance sirens

Yet those around her remain silent

Trapped is where she'll remain

In a body that continues to reject her

A number above her head that will soon be replaced by a gravestone

A genie's wish to transition manipulated into a transformation of bones

Some are left with sour endings, but this poem will not have one

In hopes that this story will never end

In hopes that it will live on for 14 more years

In hopes to defeat the only enemy that still clouds her memory

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