I know it's more prose than poetry but I didn't think it fit into the short-story category. This is a very short piece about abuse. If you like it, there's a link at the bottom to a website called figment. Could you like it there too? Trying to win a contest, thanks
The weather said it would be cold that day. She looked out the window and saw the grey sky through the glass that was spotted with raindrops from the night before. Looking through the little dots distorted her vision, reminding her of the countless mornings she’d woken up blurry and black-eyed. There was once a time when the memories of such mornings would have made a shudder run through her thin frame. But that time was long gone.
School would start soon. She switched off the television, padding on silent feet to her closet. She sorted through the few outfits she owned, a new memory surfacing with each one she touched. She recalled the bruises each blouse had covered. Some even had dark stains, once deep red and now brown.
She chose a pair of sweats and stripped out of her pajamas, hardly even glancing at the scars that marred the skin of her arms, legs, and breasts. Such were marks of past sufferings, ones that may have been avoided but weren’t. Maybe someone could have help, had they heard her silent pleas. But her cries went unheeded.
Her face was old and worn but she was young. It was from all the crying she’d done once upon a time. She hadn’t shed a tear in years. It was because she’d run out of them. Her tears had stolen her ability to feel and she thought it better that way. No more feelings meant no more pain.
And so she left for school, not even shivering as the frosty air surrounded her. The weather said it would be cold that day. What the weather didn’t know was that she hadn’t felt the cold in a long time.
http://figment.com/books/192824-No-Longer-Cold
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