Without God Alone Go I

You poor woman standing there in the corner of the elevator, you there, you look so worn.
When did you decide to stop taking care of yourself or dressing with pride as a female?  Why can we now see every lack of care shoved so wildly on your being, your face aged beyond recognition, your neglected hair unwashed. Your nervous lingering near that man who watches me then stares at my feet waiting for a move. Your instinct is good. I'd be nervous too with a man who looked at someone else like that while standing by you.  Was there just too much pain or was it more a way of life or did it just slide? I pity you, but not because of where you are, but because of the way you have been.