A splinter pricked into her, between the finger nail and the tenders of its tip,
A jerk of pain stirred inside her.
At the age of her puberty, something churned inside her,
Pulling her back to the floor, as if she deserved it.
Her heart shattered into a thousand pieces, after the first summer love,
Tears clouded her otherwise limpid eyes.
Her fourth job in the last three years, finally burst the confidence bubble she lived in,
And her head fell down a little more.
And then, one day after several years, a splinter pricked her hand
A blood drop created a blot on her fair skin.
She plucked the piece off her hand, shoved it aside, wiped the blood away and moved on.
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