Her reflection in the cold, hard metal
is a reminder of who is the one to blame.
No one loves her and no one cared to
give her what she so rightfully deserves.
She will take it upon herself, as before,
hoping someday someone would notice.
Hoping that someday someone would
care enough to do something, to be there.
But why should anyone be there for her
when clearly, no one wants to be near her.
No one is coming for her and she knows,
and the cold steel on her skin reminds her.
The first cut wasn't the deepest - never is;
and she knew that it would only get worse.
Not that anyone would even notice her,
it's not like a single soul even gives a shit.
Water turns pink and porcelain crimson,
blood runs like something from a movie.
Her life is a movie, like the ones they say
were screw ups lacking plot and direction.
She was meaningless, and no one noticed
or cared that she was falling, falling so fast.
Like the red drips splattering clean white
she was just a mark on the world, she knew.
She knew that she had not a drop of hope
and that no one cared that she was falling.
She cringes in pain as teardrops descend
failing to see the harsh similarity in it all.
The tears cleanse her pain, washing it away
just as the water floods the sink and cleans.
The blood departs within the faucet current,
leaving her there with her scars every night.
The right words could fix her heart somehow
if only she realized they were hers all along.
A purpose has been appointed, whether hers,
natural, or supernatural, and she has meaning.
A meaning that only she can truly find within,
and trade the steel for happiness and a smile.
And exchange tears for the cleansing smell
of a rainy day come to wash away all the dirt.
And change blood shed to a passion burning
within her, of purpose and of love and of life.
Because she has a meaning, that can be found
within her heart - deep within her pulsing heart.
The pain and hurt and tears can be given away
for something better and something wonderful.
And the wonderful thing she will hopefully find
is that face in the mirror that belongs to one: her.
I can only hope and pray and trust that she will
find the beauty that I find in her, that only she can.
Because she is beautiful, scarred and wonderful,
and given a gift that can be rejuvinated and revived: