today, I met a girl with purple hair.
I held my book as I examined her attire.
ripped jeans, bruises everywhere.
with red lines on her arms
from all of her despair.
the girl with purple hair was quite pretty.
not because of the size of her breasts,
not because of the size of her butt.
but because of the size of her heart,
that someone once tore apart.
i went up to the girl with purple hair.
she welcomed me with a unsure smile.
she shook my hand, pulling her arm away once she realized I was looking at her lines.
I pulled her hand back, and kissed it,
even though she resigned.
this purple haired girl was brave.
she had survived the hardest times,
knowing she could have given up.
but she wasn't the only one, so I showed her my lines.
YOU ARE READING
For The Inconsolable
Poetry~I want someone to read these words and understand me for just one second so I'm not alone with my thoughts..~
