Sleeves slip up in class, and you can see them
tiny white lines, one after another,
lines up in neat rows like soldiers.
She apologizes because she's sorry
they are a part of her dysfunctional life.
She doesn't want anyone to know;
She doesn't want anyone to hear;
She doesn't want anyone to see
the darkness inside of her.
Her hair falls over her eyes like a thick curtain,
they block out the brightness of the day.
What can she say? What can she do?
But she cries.