i could paint you a mural of her face
with all the black and broken mascara tears
she’s ever cried.

i could sing you the song of her life
with all the hurt screams and violent words
she’s ever heard.

i could dance you a ballet of her “sins”
with every bruise from every punch and every push
she’s ever felt.

i could write you a book of her thoughts
using every sad moment she’s ever lived through
as the ink.

but ask me to tell you
of any smile she’s ever smiled
and i couldn’t tell you a word.