Her smile was shy when it showed at all,
always hidden below saddened wary eyes.
Her shirt was ragged, torn and dirty
and never matched her ragged, torn and dirty shorts.
Her shoes always showed toes,
wiggling free in the hot days’ sun.
Her fingers sometimes bled
as a result of being chewed so short in the corners.
Her hair was never carefully groomed
and often disturbingly short.
Her scars were always healing,
even the ones that didn’t show.
Her knees were always scraped,
she never seemed to know just how.
She never bothered to conceal her breasts,
for those who wanted to see would anyway.
She grew taller
but never tall enough to reach love.
You have to be this tall to ride that ride, the sign said.
I think I might be finally tall enough to reach it now,
because I can feel it when I touch you.