I've seen the tears running down her face.
I've seen her break apart into pieces.
her eyes don't agree with the smile on her face.
She's a torn painting where all color ceases.
She breaks apart almost everyday
looking for another way to find happiness again
Her vibrancy now all washed away
She knows not if she'll be loved again.
The outline of a once intricate painting
She doesn't know if she'll ever be seen.
Only a fool could disregard this painting
With a center more golden than anyone'll see.
I will embrace my friend for no one else deserves to
And if her heart pours out I'll listen and be there
And she'll only tell me cause no one else deserves to
understand the tragedy behind this painting that's here.
I want to lie and say I'll be her artist
I want to say I'll repaint her whole canvas
But she is a self-healer; her own special artist
only she knows the complexity of her canvas.
As the observer, I will watch her grow
I'll support and try my best to understand
and although there shall always be human error
My friend will get up on her own two feet and stand.
YOU ARE READING
The Air I Breathed in That Morning
PoetryI'm not a poet. I'm not really a writer. But I decided the little things I write shouldn't go unnoticed. I hope you get to see a little bit about another individual you've probably never met. Leave a comment. It's nice when people appreciate the lit...
