When it cracked there was no way to stop it,
The fracture grew beyond control.
The hasty measures taken didn’t knit,
A ghastly hole torn in a fabric of sweet soul.
The maiden was unfathomably and clearly broken,
Beyond approach and any kind of soothing.
She stayed inside, and rarely outspoken,
Her crippled pieces rough, denying any smoothing.
She didn’t want to hide her scars or bearings,
She walked around parading all of them.
A condescending laugh to foolish saviours,
She never hid the monsters kept under the hem.
She answered truthfully to anyone who asked her,
She didn’t mask the ugliness of jaded edge.
Ignoring comforts, sounding like a slur,
To someone who was used to living on the ledge.
The heroes quickly turned on vicious harpy,
She loved to play in “hard to get”.
The naïve girl became a clinic sharpie,
“Which doesn’t kill you” scored, in retrospect.