When her heart broke,
She always felt the need to draw-
Lines and crosses mostly,
Not true artwork in itself but she,
Convinced the works engraved, unexposed
are beautiful. Drawn only when she feels desperate and alone;
Failed a test,
Reminding her of the declining chance of Ivy League.
Another weekend morning waking in jeans and dried contacts,
Beer cans littered around her and an unknown sleeping next to her.
Fight with her parents,
One at a time at separate houses of course.
She draws to repress reality.
But her drawings, a constant reminder of her past,
Because they are kept on her wrists and ankles.
When she flips open the old religion;
A red plastic casing with metal sharpened on hinges inside
The pain drips away crimson.
She believes the chronic awareness of her
Scars make her strong.
Such a pity they weaken her.