I knew a girl who liked to draw.
She drew pictures that nobody saw.
She was most artistic at night, in her
bathroom, out of sight.
She didn't tell a soul and her gallery
grew.

Her drawings were different, no
pencil or pen.
But needed a bandage now and
again.

We stood by the river, under the stars.
She rolled up her sleeves and
showed me her scars.
She felt so embarrassed and looked
at her shoe.

I rolled up my sleeves and said,
"I draw too."