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...