Say hi to the girl sitting on the park bench
With rainclouds pouring over her head
Who will tell you that her scars are the tattoos she’s received from past lovers
And that her crooked smile was her mother’s.
Say hi to the hollow girl on the park bench
Who used to breathe life as if it were oxygen
And whose compassion choked it out of her.
Sit and listen to the tales of woe
From the lonely girl sitting on the park bench.
Whose sleeves are bunched up in her palms
Because her lifelines stretch along pages
And her words are scrambled and scrawled along her arms
In fragmented pieces
Like the aftermath of a rainstorm.
You may learn a lot
From the girl on the park bench
Who can tell you tales of love and loss
And crooked smiles.
But you must look past the rainclouds
And scabbing scars
To read the pages on her arms
And the lifelines on her palms.
You can be changed by the girl on the park bench
Who will tell you fragmented secrets
And broken stories.
But you must share her raincloud