she searches for crack rocks by the garbage can but saying that she searches for sea shells by the sea shore sounds so much better
it metaphorically mimics how she scrapes the pavement for any remnants of her dignity,
fingertips calloused and burned from searching for heaven in hell's playground
the street between us serves as an abysmal divide causing me to forget compassion and her to forget pride
our lives leisurely collide
and it crosses my mind
"we're probably way too much alike to like each other"
me as indulgent and her as judgemental
her situation doesnt show me what she has been through, but it shows me that she got stuck,
her rut became her only stability
i pretend that her curses and murmurs are prayers
the whispers and stares dont bother her
the only cares in her world are how to numb the feelings
i want her to hold on and she wants me to let go because i will never understand her struggle
in the scope of my world her oceans may always appear puddles
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