The Girl on the Park Bench

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


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