The light is weak,
The glass is cracked;
It's hard to speak
When you feel attacked.
Remember that time?
Remember who you were...
Is it a crime,
Or something you deserve?
The ray of hope grows dim.
You hold the glass to your chest.
The prognosis is grim--
"Just hope for the best."
Curl into a tight ball
And think the words that cannot be spoken:
How am I to stand tall,
And how long have I been this broken?
– Kathee
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