She had scars on her wrist and her arm
And she didn't pull back when I touched them
they were purple and straight
as if done with real purpose,
jumped out, on her pale skin
I waited a month
before asking
in her life
why?
I filled her with love every day
It meant the world
but only to me
she had been broken
and glued back together
She still leaked
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem