This was a quiet one,
she thought as she was sewing up,
all the rips and tears
that had pierced her skin.
a quiet battle.
a quiet, inner agony
breaking apart her psyche
from inside out
brain matter becoming
a sharp blade.
imperfections were little knives
thrown at a board
hitting squarely on marks
blood spurted out, fresh wounds
on top of old scar tissue.
But she sat in silence
sewing them up
without a word of judgment
trying to offer
wordless compassion
instead of wordless threats.
Laurie Works 