The quiet girl wears rose colored glasses.
Yet, no one, but her notices cracks, and
Where truth seeps through blinding iris’s,
and only she knows how long-
it takes to refocus.
She stays silent.
The colors of the rose:
she knows it shows-
the way things should be right,
but wrong is where light-
shines through the cracks.
But, as she is so quiet
(trying hard not to fight it).
No one, but she, can see it:
The heartache in the holes...
The comfort of the rose;
falling to the brim of her nose-
from sliding salty tears that almost expose:
all of the light from the cracks, and scratches.
As he silently pushes up-
her rose colored glasses.