She wears her nail polish

dark and chipped

and coated with a seal.

But somehow, it is pretty

even as it peals.

Beauty can be found

in its cracked and broken state.

It revels in its rebellion,

as it longs for a new shape.

It is overworn and damaged

and long in need of help,

but she wears it still.

She wears it through hell.

If only they had listened,

if only they had stayed.

But her parents only closed their eyes

as they kneeled down to pray.

Maybe she could've changed

a new girl risen like the sun.

Maybe she could've saved herself,

had the deed not been done.