isolation

She built a pyramid in the sand,

portioning a quotient to each of us,

and she tasted the structures' fright

as we kicked them down.

She would absorb the sun like a plant,

turning green, and make a fossil out of

each thought she was too afraid to say,

building glaciers of her emotions.

She had a habit of pretending to be invisible,

so similar to her surroundings

we wouldn't notice her bleak outlook

or the way she tied her hair.

She wanted a balcony to sit on,

to observe the world from,

where helicopter maple keys and fallen leaves

were her only real visitors.

She never hosted slumber parties

and gave harsh answers to avoid the truth;

the jellyfish sting of declined invitations

was a possibility too impossible to allow.

She hoarded nuts like a chipmunk,

stuffing her cheeks with every stare cast her way

as she made her solemn march downtown

wondering why she hated attention.

She might have crumpled the pages of your heart

if you were to put it in her hands, so she thought

she'd better not risk it, and remained

in the typical lonely day-to-day.