I remember the day you dyed your hair the color of

violets, the same week that you forgot how to smile.

I can see the way you try so hard to impress us, how

you work so hard to be the same. For a while I was

content with watching your attempts, your desperate

endeavors to be someone you’re not. Now, though—

now I can see the scars behind your eyes, the way

your hair grows oily without your attention to keep

it bright. I can see the way flowers wilt away from

you—and you can see it, too. I remember the day

you dyed your hair violet—the same color as mine—

and I taught you how to frown. It’s like that saying;

can’t teach an old dog new tricks only I think it

might be be a little different. Can’t teach a broken

girl how to heal. I admit I would want you to stitch

your own wounds shut for it is a skill we all should

learn but there always days when we need a doctor.

Can’t teach a broken girl how to heal

but I don't want to loose you again...