I look at myself
and all I see
is tarnished and tawdy
and useless.

You look at me
as though I am
precious and dear
and loved.

My pages are worn
and so are my hands,
so you've taken the
pen

To continue my story
and replaced the ink
that is sour and old
with new
bright gold instead
of the dark black
and blue to show
the colours of
bruise
and you turn
me to happy wonder

Others have tried and
their ink turned to blood
and I fear yours will
do the same

but for now these
new pages are writ
with new ink
and I hope it
shall last