I wish they knew a broken finger

Does not linger

In the midst of horror.

It receives honor

For holding its position

And strength in composition.

Maybe a broken finger

Can't speak of tomorrow

But it heals

And never feels the sorrow

Of being the distinct.

One in five,

A second life

Living at the edge of the knife,

But holding its position

And strength in composition.

 

Maybe a broken finger is the rock that holds the shore from overflooding

The world.

A broken finger,

Maybe its stronger than the others who

Stand with great hubris,

Debris in their heart,

Flowers in their hair.

Oh how much they look like they care.

 

A broken finger.

A fighter.

A little quieter, but

Truly an all nighter

Of resilience and recognition.