Who is this broken thing
Who holds her broken things
And dreams stuffed in a ***** handbag
Dangling from her fingertips
Where strips of skin have hardened
Like she has
Streaks of shame and fear
And tears coursing lines down her wrists
Thick with blood and grit
Where every scar tells of a heartbreak
Until she closed it all up
And broke all her stuff
And she cries sometimes
Does not see between the lines of sheet music
Notes played just for her
A special symphony of minor chords
The saddest chords there are
I hope she hears it one day
Forgets the shame and pain of it all
To know that even in sad chords there is beauty
And even the sad things can be loved