Hay Street

I see her
At her usual street corner
Fishnets ripped
Mascara tears streaming
Down a painted face
Once very beautiful
Now sickening
Yet who am I
To judge her
I myself
Have been very close
To being in her same shoes
I empathize
And wish
That there was more
That I could do
Besides write a poem
And hope that someone
Somewhere
Is listening
To what most people
Would deem
As nothing more
Than trivial
But nothing
Is trivial