Worth

Folded hands, cold against the summer air.
The ring tells me you are not alone,
And yet the smile speaks otherwise.
A clouded look is in your eyes
Speaking of loneliness not yet voiced.
Your hair is held by plain black bands
Yet your hair sings for the freedom of the wind
Your nails like miniature tombstones
I watch you walk precariously
The rocky earth beneath your feet
He is not your master
Yet because of him, you are lost
You seem desperate for joy to return
For the colors to come back to your palette
And the notes to come back to your song
Honey, he’s not worth it.