I knew a girl who liked to draw, She drew pictures that no one saw, She was most artistic late at night, In the bathroom, out of sight She kept a secret no one knew She didn't tell a soul and her gallery grew, Her drawings were different, no paper or pen. But needed a bandage every now and again, We stood by the river under the stars, She rolled up her sleeves and showed me her scars, She felt embarrassed and looked at her shoe, I rolled up my sleeves and said, "I draw too".
Not mine. I found it online. Would love to know the poet.