365 Days of Poetry — Day 33

Tears well at the thought of exposure,
And time doesn’t heal what’s been taken from her.
They never mattered, the scars that dwell in her heart,
Until a time when puppets played her broken part.

From that dreaded hour she was a shell;
All love and warmth was sent straight to hell.
She was left to find her own, patches and glue;
She was left to do one thing: forget about you.

– Brittany Rose

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