HURT
A scar marks her
Like the one her mother bears
She ignores remarks about her
And pointedly returns stares
Her eyes, hooded and dark
Reveal little, only moods
Causing passersby to steer
Clear of her stony altitude
Giants of any kind
Don’t affect her
Angels behind mirrors
Reflect her
She’s waiting
And the drums may pause for warning
But don’t expect it
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