I Could See Her Scars

As she let her hair fall softly down from her head,
it covered her new addition to her abused scared face.
There was a purpose for rejecting my sincere invitation,
it was her first refusal to me that she didn’t want to run the race.

With a slight movement of our head and eyes in unison,
we mutually agreed to step outside to be speak more privately.
A southern strong wind blew majestically uncovering what made me gasp,
she wanted to cry because my eyes caught site of her disfigurement entirely.

I often kept my outer emotions hidden from the public,
but on this day I couldn’t as I saw why she was hiding it from us.
My tears of anger dripped down from my eyes and below my cheeks,
as those that knew her well ran quickly wanting answers from her to discuss.

She didn’t rush to speak to us at first as she became silent,
refusing to freely give details of events that transpired that night.
It suddenly occurred to me that she had gone into a state of a small shock,
so I pulled her gently from the crowd by her hand to ask what was not right.

In a more private setting she continued to tightly grasp my hand,
and her tears reached the floor as my ears could hear the pounding sound.
The more humane thing to do was to take her to the office of a professional,
and our town had one that I personally made it a point to show her around.

It was obvious she was in great pain because of the stress on her face,
however, it was then that I noticed that her legs couldn’t move so quick.
My mind had ideas of why she stubbornly didn’t report it while I waited,
and it even frightened me as I thought about the guilty man being so sick.

My rage had by then embedded in my soul while I yearned to help her,
and it drove my thoughts to think unreasonable things to even the score.
My patience was wearing me down and without notice she burst out,
and this time her limping was greater as she angrily slammed the door.

Her bodily momentum was so energized that it took her down to the floor,
I hurried to her aid as my horrified eyes could see the bruises on her legs.
She covered them while my blood boiled over a hundred more times over,
but as I picked her up I sensed a yearning for help without having to beg.

There was no doubt in her entire body that didn’t know what we would do,
but before we did she stopped me and said," Let’s go for that run first!"
Her strong will to run with pain was to let me know that she was strong,
so we finished right in front of the police station to quench her thirst.

I Could See Her Scars


Harlingen, United States

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Artwork Comments

  • CanyonWind
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