The girl with the lopsided grin,
hair parted just so,
eyes wide the way they teach girls
to look pretty in photographs.
No one knew
she was underwater.
She learned
how to hold her breath.
How to smile and laugh
without making a ripple.
No one asked
why she drifted through hallways
like someone lost at sea,
why she stared out windows
as if they were portholes
to another life.
She wore borrowed joy
like a life jacket,
brightly colored,
but never strong enough
to save her.
Only now can I see
the drowning girl
behind her eyes —
how well she learned
to make survival
look like grace.
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