That day, she looked odd, different,
In some way or another.
Wearing sunglasses to hide her tears,
A mask to conceal her emotions.
She had a black hoodie to cover herself,
A cap to shelter her estranged hair,
Long sleeves to bury her scars,
Eyes averted to disguise her feelings.
I could see she was pretending,
Trying to trap the ache crawling inside.
Loose jeans draping over her,
Like camouflage for open wounds.
In every piece of equipment she wore,
In every part of the fabric she used,
There lies a secret: an open, corroding soul,
A diversion for a rotten, broken mind.