eight

On any ordinary day it’s an eight.

 Even on a regular day her pain is still an eight. 

People don’t understand that because you’d look at her and never even know.

 

When she walks out the door she smiles like she’s never even been over a five. 

She wakes up in the morning and crawls out of bed, 

walks out that door with the plan of smiling at everyone who looks her way.

 She’s forgiving, too forgiving.

 She loves with her all,

 and she gets tricked.

 People chisel away at each bricks of the wall she’s built up.

 Damaged,

 broken, 

and optimistic. 

She’s an eight.