She Has

She has cried over love    
as it walked out the door,    
into it's supped up Chevy    
and into the arms of a;  
less complicated, bigger breasted    
And far more silent, trade in.    
     
She has begged God,    
to take back her pain      
and what's left of that    
shattered/ beaten organ,    
deposited in her chest    
by he, himself      
     
She has been sliced in half      
by infidelity so deeply and    
the scars so noticeable    
that eye contact remains difficult    
as she is sure that she's disfigured.    
     
For all the things      
that she has done,    
the most excruciating,      
is what she hasn't.    
For she has never, not once,    
loved a man, who loved her.