Who took a little girl by the hand
Who sat with her weeping in the hall
Who sneered in group therapy
Within cold and starchy walls.
Whose square face was soft
Whose fair cheeks donned freckles faint
Whose dark hair was thick with curl
Whose eye color that girl forgot.
They said whispery things
They said quietly
Sitting cross-legged in the grass
Those things they wished to say.
Not quite friends
But a glimmer of understanding
Not taken away, this young one
Not so bad as razors in the bath
Pills beneath pillows.
No one would call her these things
Just a girl
In this strange world.
The scars on her arms would fade
The throb of her mind might dull
She might feel
This mirror of a girl
The one who took her by the hand
Who took her to the sun
To tell her “You fight every day
And every day you’ve won.”
So words live eternal
Inside that girl’s bright blood
Where her small savior has gone
She does not know
But holds her memory like gold
Deep down in the caverns of her heart.