Happiness drains from my veins.
Mischief loses it's glint from my eye.
Confidence flees my being.
Yet I stand.
Shoulders bowing and head tilted down.
But still I stand.
When words bulldoze and actions cut,
I still stand.
But, have you ever wondered,
that maybe I can't move?
My standing has become habit,
just like the smile. The laugh. The clothes.
I still stand,
not for me,
but for my loss of humanity.