Didn't

Eight years old
and she heard her crying through the wall.
Tears climbed their layered barrier hoping,
only to fall down, a shattered calmness.
She was too young.

Twelve years old
and she saw her slipping into skins of dark shades.
A still shape, empty compassion,
defeated by deafening restraints.  
She was untouched and left alone wondering.

Fourteen years old
Familiar with unfamiliar hands
She looked around the house
and could not find her and panicked.
Hospital corners had kept the secrets tucked away
The bed was unmade, she was afraid.

Now she's here, sitting, straining
trying to think back to when she could breath right.
When she could do her homework
without having to trace the foreign pictures
on her bedroom walls.
Without listening for a heart beat,
that was hundreds of miles away.

She longed for a time of forgiveness
starting over onto a blank page.
Where she didn't almost find her body
in the bathroom.
Where she didn't see the ambulance pull up.
When she couldn't stop shaking
at the sight of the hospital out of her car window.
When her sisters life nearly slipped out of her hands
disappearing, unwilling.

When she didn't love the one person
who loved her the most.