Broken Girl

She is a broken girl
She is a beautiful work of art
But I can see that the screws on her canvas are too tight
The paint too thick
Like she’s hiding behind layers of oil and acrylic

Why is she a broken girl?
No one else seems to notice
Maybe I’m the only one who can see
That some of the strings on her harp have snapped
Bent from too much pressure
And the sounds it makes are too high
Too shrill

I know how broken she is
I know that the tiger in her heart is hungry
In its eyes I see panic
I want to feed it
But I’m afraid I’ll lose my hand behind those bars

Am I the only one who sees how broken she is?
The smell of cracked ceramics seems obvious to me
It waftes off her everytime the wind changes
No one else can see the shattered china teacups
And the busted faces of porcelain dolls around her?

She is a broken girl
Like her dolls and teacups
She is a hungry girl
Like her abused tiger
She is snapped and bent
Like the strings of her harp
She is too tight
And she is hiding

Can no one else really see her?