Sing, Little Bird
Inky bruises smeared
Across papery white arms.
Silver scars overlapping
Rich azure veins.
Crooked bones
Under worn muscles.
Her body,
A canvas,
A book,
Full of stories
And lessons she's learned
And has told to few
And open to you.
Hold carefully,
Speak lightly,
And like an injured bird
She'll sing them all for you.
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