She
She
Her skin
is bruised
so easily,
leaving layers
of itself
like calling cards
Soft old bones,
prone to breaks
Lungs that
no longer
suck in hope
A girl inside
an envelope
of worn-out flesh
and bitter dreams
No one touches her
for fear she
will crumple
and be blown away
by some callous wind
Copyright © Sherry Asbury | Year Posted 2018
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