To the Woman at the Gas Station~ By Sventlana Lefevre

​Collar bones
I see them even through your sweatshirt.
What happened to your soft edges? 
Jagged, broken
Every square inch of your neck covered
In blue, in purple
Those bruises on your wrists
Those holes in your ankles
Who put them there?
Was it your dad? Those dreams you couldn't quite spin into realities? 
Or was it your mother you took so much from
I saw her here, too
But you don’t live
You survive 


Author Bio:
Svetlana Lefevre is an International Studies major and a freshman in college. She writes for fun.