No Greater Love

Sometimes, innocence gets in the way.

Looking at you over the divider
between the library carols
I feel like I've failed,
more than anything else.

What I used to think was compassion
is just...
not.

I've always sort of been
the "clean cut" type.
Never really got into serious trouble
and I never regretted that

at least not until
I see a pair of eyes
scanning my arms for marks, thinking,
"Is she like me? Can she help me?"
and finding nothing.

At what point does sacrifice
become self injury?
At what point
does "no greater love"
become no greater pride?