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don't call me broken.

You can see me at my lowest ebb,
Going through this living hell,
Battling through flowing tears,
Facing head on my biggest fears.
You may see me looking sad,
Listen, you may even hear me cry.
Even bother to ask me what is wrong,
And be na´ve to believe me when I lie.
Saying 'I am fine it is nothing'
As I gently wipe my face,
Erasing the frown for a smile.
Pretending I'm in a happy place.
You can look at me in worry,
And listen to the words I've spoken,
But please I beg this of you;
Don't ever call me broken.

Vicki Wroe, 23.

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