The first time I saw her
it was night,
She was never found
I never cared if she was.
Now, as the sun hits my arm
I ask myself, even in these hours of darkness,
a question:
Why had I not bothered to care?
Perhaps the reason was because
She was light.
Too much for our ears
Too loud for our eyes.
But then again,
Wasn’t everyone else.
Yes, I suppose everyone was.
Although I never recalled opening my eyes
So how would I know?
How would I know
That she was wearing her blood?
How would I know
That daylight had taken over?
The last time I saw her,
It was day
She never got away
I never would care.
About the Creator
Leah Amador
Thirteen-year-old Queer Latina writer! 🇭🇳🇲🇽🏳️🌈
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