That woman 

Who saw more pain

In the world than In

Herself 

That woman who tried to 

Fix back a broken vase

As a child because she did not 

Want a telling off

She wanted it to look perfect

She never knew that she would 

Become an anxious woman 

That just felt the need to fix everything around 

Her. 

She sought to fix people 

Even the ones who snapped her 

Like a pencil 

As fragile as she became to herself 

She still managed to be strong 

For others

She would splutt words of kindness 

Words of life

Spin up concoctions of teas and food

She would hold on to the wounds 

In the pits of hands

Clean up the very sick from 

The spew on your clothes 

Make sure you look presentable 

Her face didn’t scarn you once. 

They had stepped all over her good 

Nature created weeds in her garden 

And she created life with those weeds.