Polygon

Her not me.

She's a lone wolf, has no pack,
Always see her standing back.

She has no friends, just stands and stares,
But there's no one who really cares.

But it's okay; it's her not me.

Occasionally I catch her downcast eyes,
They glisten with tears as I flit by.

She's too weird to talk to though,
Not that I've taken the trouble to know.

But it's okay; it's her not me.

Shoulders stooped like she's carrying the world,
Spirit broken from all the hatred hurled.

The space around her cries for another,
But the consequences of it make me shudder.

But it's okay; it's her not me.

They say she suffered some great tragedy,
Something that changed her life completely.

Times before I've glimpsed scars on her arms,
Wounds that plead for healing palms.

But it's okay; it's her not me.

And then one day it's me, not her.
And it's not okay. Not in any way.
And I watch in muted horror as the colour seeps out of the world into a puddle at my feet.
And I am forced to witness on a sea of disgusted faces my actions in repeat.
And it's soul crushing, soul devouring, soul wrenching.
And it all happened in a blink of an eye, not to her, or him, or them, but me. Me.

So I walk up to the girl and put her hands in mine,
Watch in satisfaction at her expression of joy divine.

I may have lost everything, but she has gained something,
And I have learnt that is the most important thing of all.