She stared at the razor
It stared at her
It was calling her, begging her to use it.
So she did.
She used it.
To sharpen her pencil.
She kept her streak of being clean
It's only a piece of metal, it doesn't control your life.
She smiled, proud of herself
She didn't need the razor
She had the first genuine smile she had in a long time
Though her skin is scarred and ugly,
She's still fighting
She's strong.
