I
knew a girl who liked to draw.
She drew pictures that nobody saw.
She was most artistic at night, in her
bathroom, out of sight.
She didn't tell a soul and her
gallery
grew.
Her drawings were different, no
pencil or pen.
But needed a bandage now and
again.
She thought why of all people, did it have
to be her.
To be alive in this cruel world.
And one night we stood by the river, under the stars.
She
rolled up her sleeves and
showed me her scars.
She felt so broken & embarrassed and looked
at her shoe.
I
rolled up my sleeves and whispered,
"I draw
too."