The Girl on the Corner
Appeared slowly
Into the pale radiance of the street lamp
From the dense jungle of fog
That fought to consume her

The rain pattered
Whispering its sweet silky lullaby
Dancing on little ballerina shoes
Around her

Her eyes darted this way
And that
Around at the quiet, leery world
On the street

Satisfied that no one
Could see her,
She reached into her worn leather jacket
And produced her
Beautiful Thing

It was a heart
Made of glass
So majestic, yet reserved
Rightfully belonging to the
Girl on the Corner

A myriad of Finger Prints covered
Her prize
Marking the ownership
Of some other being

A harsh, rooted scar
Slashed through her heart
Revealing how absent-mindedly
It had been treated
By the other one

The Girl on the Corner
Lifted it high
Away from her breast
And it glistened
Reflecting and echoing
The sparse industrial sunshine

It illuminated her face
But she only saw his
She needed to be free
To destroy the chains that bound her to
Him

The Girl on the Corner
Willed her fingers to release
And it slipped
And slid
Into freedom

The collision resonated the sound of her liberty
The pain was gone
Nothing but shards of another life

The Girl on the Corner
Shed a single tear
And stepped away from her old, tortured soul

She was born again
And the rain sighed
And carried the broken heart away

The Girl on the Corner
Readily sank back into the fog
From which she came
And never returned

And that Girl on the Corner
Was me.