This child was left behind…
left to consider the words of those who lied…
the love from those who never tried,
and the always-ache
of an ever-fleeting time.
What age am I?
What age is mine?
These legs were left untrained…
ill-equipped for the running of their day…
the advanced nature of the human way
and the blaring call
for a willing sway.
What is my name?
And can it ever change?
If what we learned is wrong,
can any truth sound more strong,
or will we always be at battle
with a war that’s lasted far too long?
I’m wearing white.
My fight has flown.
And will that ever be enough?