A Crisis Called Identity

She walked the streets in a lonely manner...
Hoping that for once, she could finally matter.
No one cared, no one noticed, no one cried.
And everybody lied.
Everybody lied to each other to cover her up.
She never was alive, just a double of
Her so called family.
They killed her singlehandedly.
The name on the gravestone said No One Important.
Just like the other assortment
Of forgotten men, women, children, people.
She jumped from the church steeple.
No matter what anyone said, she jumped.
They didn't say a word while they pumped
Her pain into her heart and soul.
Just another stop, drop, and roll.
They stopped caring.
They dropped their staring.
They rolled away.
They died today.
The names on the gravestones say:
These are the people who didn't care
About the lost souls who shared
The same fate.
The same date.
The same wanting.
The wanting to be noticed.
The need to focus.
She walks still so alone.
She is silent as a stone.
No one cares.
No one stares.
Just how she needed it.
Just how she wanted it.