Scars

What You'll See

What will you see,

when you finally turn her key?

I'll tell you what I see of her.

Her life's not in order.

The words people say,

during the night and day,

are just killer.

I fear one day they'll kill her.

I hope, pray;

but I can't stop what other's say.

I'm not sure how she lives day by day;

but it gives me hope I can do the same.

One day there will be no more tears on her pillow,

As she'll rest in peace beneath the willow.

I know she'll dance with her ancestors,

because her sore no longer festers.

When she was five,

some how she survived,

even with her sleeves stained red,

in hopes she was dead, skin pale as bread.

she lived in pain,

like lightning in the rain.

They call her lame 'cause she's tired,

but they don't know the pain from her fire.

People play her like a game,

it's no wonder she messes with the flame.

The point of her life?

Well it's very simple like a knife.

She looks shiny,

but her family calls her whinny.

They think she's dull,

they miss the blade which cuts deep like a shovel.

They don't feel her fears,

just like they don't see her tears.

To never be good enough,

is far past the limit of tough.

She's a soldier invisible she maybe;

But people still judge what they can't see.

They say she has self pity;

but wouldn't you if you felt itty bity?

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4-4-14