The Mistake Girl

By: Portia Miller

The mistake girl is in the corner,

Facing the wall,

Counting how many cracks are in the cheap,

Thinning plaster.

Trying desperately and

Failing to block out her mother’s voice.


Setting a price.

The mistake girl is in the hallway,

Frizzy hair confined under a pair of headphones.

The music understands her,

doesn’t hurt,

Or hate her.

It blocks out the sound of her mother’s job.

The tattered notebook is her savior,

Bitten at the edges,

A feast for the rats,

Pregnant with too many papers.

Full of truths,

And Fantasy,

Which makes life bearable

The mistake girl is in the basketball court,

Sitting on the bleachers,

With her constant companions,

The tattered notebook,

And the headphones.

A high schooler comes up,


The insults fall on,

Headphoned ears,

Only filled with sweet music,

Not the dirt of the streets.

The mistake girl is crying in the hallway,


With the remains of her savior,

Cradled in her hands,

Mourning her loss,

With her mother.

Holding her hand

Being there while her daughter’s world

is crashing down around her

The mistake girl is in school,

Being picked on.

No protection,

A new notebook clutched closely.

The mistake girl is in her world,

Where people are kind,

And look up to her.

They don’t rip up her notebook,

Or push her down to the unforgiving ground.

Right now,

She is protected from the world.

But soon,

The real world,

Will stop

the music.