No one knows it is broken

No one knows that in every failed relationship he has left a piece,
that his incomplete heart has had a bite taken out of it,
a mark, a wound.
That her eyes overflowing with tears
have made the leaves rustle
and there is no word in this hour
that is a swing, a bridge,
a wall to stop death.

No one knows that it was she who offered the heart,
who put her shoulder, her hands and her back,
that it was she who carried the cross, who saw the glass half full,
who played her last card on the table.
It was she who walked the streets
and was singled out as a bad woman.
Accused of tripping over the same stone a thousand times:
night cat, cheap butterfly.

Blind society that judges and points:
a broken mirror looks like her soul.
For them sin has a woman's name.
For them her bed is a map, a trap.
They who have not seen what she lacks
They say cruelly, that in spite of lovelessness, she is still intact.