She Sang It Best

I miss that little girl
The one who sang a sad song, but didn't understand
She covered her hands in ink
She pressed them to smooth paper
And there it was: an identity

I miss the girl who twirled
And gave her mother butterfly kisses with soft full eyelashes
She loved the sound of the train at night
Calling her into the distance

I miss the girl who laughed a big laugh
And cried for that baby mouse
Cold and dead on the sidewalk
She lifted him and dug his little grave

I miss the girl who shouted to the heavens

"I am brilliant, world! I am brilliant!"