Benched
You can find
her,
curled up,
beaten,
broken,
in the fetal position on the
sidelines of life
just too shy for center stage
as she hugs herself and says
its never okay.
She watches from tearful, broken eyes
as life passes her by,
knows she'll never have the strength
to get up
and kick the
cobwebs away.
Peers stand and watch for
awhile,
sate their curiosity and then
move on.
Family lurks behind,
ever critical
as they watch
from the stands.
Friends pull up chairs
and plop upon dusty benches
innocent faces pained
and drawn
from what they've
seen
she knows she's broken,
twisted,
a perverted mess of a girl
who never had a
chance.
She can't see the light
behind the tears,
can't see
who is waiting,
her white knight.
The Lost
He's been watching
her,
this
beaten
broken
beautiful girl whose mere presence
yanks
at what's left of his heart;
he tries and picks up the pieces while denying
the truth.
He's tried to
pass her by,
thought he had the strength to ignore
the
desperate plea in her eyes,
the cry for help.
He's stood amongst those silent
watchers,
felt the pain of their disinterest
like a knife to his heart.
Her family ignores him,
as he picks through
whats left
of her childhood, looking for clues.
The last chair is
old,
rusty
beaten
and it creaks as he leans against it
and watches her shake,
he's made his decision, as rash
stupid
and life-changing as it is,
the girl who never had a chance
has captured his soul.
You can find him
at her side,
ever standing guard
as he awaits his sleeping
beauty.
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