He touched her
And she chipped ever so gently
He hit her
Another chip falls
From that sweet shiny body of hers
She laughs
And finds joy in things like trees
They call her weak
When she's just sweet
She's made of porcelain
Fragile eyes made of glass
Perfectly made
Used and then passed
Bruised and abused
Handed down an object
A toy to play with
Porcelain girl
Porcelain girl
What's wrong with you
She cries and she falls
Falling
Falling
Falling
Down till she hits the ground
She shatters
Revealing every scar
And broken part
That had been hidden for years
Now everyone knew
But it was too late
This time she couldn't be saved.
YOU ARE READING
Where The Grass Grows
PoetryA poetry collection about life & death, love, loss, & grief. Written through the lens of a 15-17-year-old girl. These poems are a collection of my story. Take care of them. They mean the world to me.
