Ghost

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I have an amazing friend, Katrina, for helping me edit this poem! Without her, it would not be what it is today and would still be just an idea floating around among the documents of my laptop. 

 

Ghosts are real.

They’re living in large crowds of people, or alone in a corner.

They’re the quiet people who look lost in the world.

A ghost is a real person, carrying on the life

For those dead inside.

They get pushed and shoved, blown away like a feather.

They don’t have feelings anymore

Because they’ve felt too much in their life.

Their heart is broken; replaced by a large void which cannot be filled;

A void caused by the isolation their peers have given.

 

Their bones are non-existent; words have been flung off strong catapults shattering all.

Their clothes are baggy because their body has been picked at until nothing is left. 

Their back is non-existent because it has been stabbed too many times.

Their arms have fallen off because they have spent too long hanging on.

They have no legs due to running from a distant past.

They don’t have feet because of the many times they’ve been tripped.

Their hands are useless from trying to grip sanity.

Their mouth taken away; punishment for not speaking of their agony.

Their eyes are closed to cover the hurt.

 

They wear a sheet over their head to hide from light;

Sheets forced over their head; they were told they were too ‘hideous’ without them.

Ghosts are real.

They’re living in crowds of people, or alone in a corner.

 

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