One bandage, two scars

They see her, a large bandaged scar. They

hear her pained moans while she hovers

the ground. They feel her jagged

insides as she sits there and cries. And

they listen as she rides upon company,

bought by her wails. And I? I pray

for her soul for her arms for her legs. I pray

that she rise from the shackles that pierce

her down there. I work, work, work,

to help them help her. And I hold within

my troubles, lest they distract. No time for self,

when she’s still playing hurt. I’ll sit here and wait—

but will they see that I’m troubled too?

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s