The cuts on her wrist,

Little red marks

“I’m fine” she insists.

But I know she’s not.

I remember at her age,

I just played games.

And laughed with my friends.

What has the world done to these children?

Back in first grade,

She smiled every day.

Now she’s not even fifteen,

And she wants to leave.

I confiscated the knife.

I’m still worried for her life.

So fragile, so strong

I love her, she needs to know

The darkness powers over and she falls apart.

She thinks she is messy but she’s a work of art.

I hope she knows I love her.