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by Lindsey Rick

Insecure smiles spread thin.
Their veneer is old.
The cracks are showing.

I look inside each crevice.
Peering deep inside, I see the hurting soul.
Black, cold, straining towards the light.

I move to another wound.
This one cries out.
Aching to be heard.

It tells me to break the shell.
Open the wound.
“Let them see!”

The cry is heard only by me.
The room is filled with hurting hearts.
They drown out the other voices, hearing only their own.

All but me.
I hear.
It takes a mended heart to unbreak another.