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.