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By Sharon Michelle Upputuru

Lonely, 

That’s what they call her; What they know her as. But what they don’t, They look over 

Like the sand sifting through the air, 

Lost to the wind before she is lost to the earth 

Every smile measured 

As she glances across the room 

The room so full of plotlines and pretty words If only, she could have herself altered 

They call her awkward 

To smile at her, tortured 

For she has been censored 

Lonely in her spot, she has been cornered 

Lonely, that’s what they call me 

Easy to fade into the static 

But as the wind pushes me forward 

To let myself be authored 

But how can I? 

For I am just the foreword 

I am passed ahead of 

To the real plot 

I am forgetten 

And I am lonely in the pages of my own book

By Sharon Michelle Upputuru