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This is a poem of sorts. It's meant to explain that perfection is only an illusion |
Henrietta was my definition of perfection When I was in the second grade She was the pretty eighth grader With all the friends That girl that always won awards She was nice too No other eighth grader was nice to little kids No other eighth grader treated us like friends She spent an entire recess with us once We played the best games I’d never been so happy to be found in Hide n’ Seek That recess will never be forgotten When I was in the eighth grade I remembered Henrietta I wanted to be remembered the same way I remembered her Spending recesses with younger kids was a regular habit for me My friends thought it was weird They didn’t understand I didn’t bother to explain When I was in the eleventh grade I took a peer mentoring program at school Students in that program helped high school freshmen Our job was to make them comfortable I was reminded of Henrietta She probably entered this program Henrietta was going to make something of herself When I was in my second year of university I saw Henrietta again Her face had been engraved in my mind There was no mistaking it It was Henrietta Living on the streets |