"And who are we to judge the broken?" She screams.
Tearing at her skin, laced with seams
she sowed to show she could heal.
"We don't help them: we condemn,
because we can't understand we hold the key to a
lock thrown downstream:
An effort abandoned when the price
peaked at an inconvenience to our dreams."
She sinks to the floor, unable to hold herself
because for too long no one held her.
Her patchwork arms
reveal the scars; as she kept count
of the let-downs and put-downs.
"But I can't save anyone."
She falls to the floor, met by arms that catch her
just as she breaks
and succumbs to the aches
that keep her awake at night -
shaking
as she reaches
for something sharp
once more.