Empathy for the Broken

Poem by: Ministryoflove

Reads: 345 | Likes: 0 | Shelves: 0 | Comments: 2

She was me, she is we, she will be no one

In the bookstore

In the hall by the bathroom

A mother and her daughter

Petulant and haughty, the mother crosses her arms

Her daughter looks ashamed

I say hello, as a young woman exits the hall

Her purse and small back pack clutched tight

She is dirty

Tears carve swathes down her sunburnt cheeks

She looks at me

Her eyes are without hope

I left the key in the door

She says

It's okay

I tell her

The mother stares

As soon as the girl who is in pain rounds the corner

The mother tries to lock eyes with me

I know what that bitch wants

She wants an unspoken understanding

A mutual agreement that we have both witnessed the scum of our city

I don't give it to her

She turns to her daughter

Don't touch anything!

She screams

And looks back at me, laughing

I turn away

Disgusted

I round the corner

And call out

Are you okay?

She stops

And starts to sob again

Nodding

I don't say a word

People stare she turns back around

And leaves

Three hours later

Lunch break

I get a veggie sandwich with pepper jack cheese

Same as always

I leave the shop

The broken girl runs across the street, dodging traffic

She calls out

I can barely hear her

Are you 21

She asks

Yes

I say

Her eyes cast down

Will you get me a 211

I'll pay you

But I'm short

She grips a dollar bill tightly

Our eyes meet

And I see that our pain is the same

What is a 211

I say guilty

It's steel reserve

Malt liquor

Okay

I buy one from a chevron

And return to where she stands

Thank you

She says

It's okay

I say again

What else can I say?

I've been there

Who cares if I have a home

Or a job

I've needed it just as bad

I turn to leave

Trying to convince myself I've helped her

She's just a kid

What's your name?

She asks

I tell her

And ask for hers

I don't hear her response

Anita

She says again

Anita

I say

She sees my arm

What does it mean?

She asks

Its a symbol that ties the soul to whatever object it's drawn on

It means this body is all I have

I say

It means that I don't believe in the soul

Sometimes

She says

I feel like a soul

Trapped in a body

What do I know

I say

I want to tell her that

Things will be okay

But how the fuck should I know? So I leave

That's the last time I saw her

And I know if I do see her again

I won't say a fucking word

Submitted: August 12, 2015

Poetry

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Comments

Zach MacDonald

I liked this and the candid, honest voice it's written in. Your words paint a really clear picture of the scene. It comes off as a short story, almost a flash fiction, told in the form of a poem, and it really works in that form.

I thought there was great insight here, especially on the mother trying to lock eyes for unspoken understanding that you've both witnessed the "scum of our city". I know just the kind of person you mean. Also a powerful ending. Very nice work.

Wed, August 12th, 2015 4:10am

Author
Reply

Thank you man, I really appreciate the comment. This actually happened earlier today, I wrote about it at the end of my lunch and finished it on my smoke break. Thank you for reading!

Tue, August 11th, 2015 9:32pm

Yulia

This was really awesome! You wrote it at the end of your lunch and then you finished it on your smoke break, i think that's great to see things happen and then write about them! That's a wonderful way of writing! This poem was really true and honest.You've got a great talent to put beautiful and wonderful things all together. And i can see the you write from all your heart and soul and that's what great about being a writer or a poet! Also, you've got your own unique way of writing. It's different and i like it =) Keep writing and don't forget to keep me updated with your new stuff I'll gladly read them :) Take care!

Tue, September 8th, 2015 10:53am