These scars.. these are not the scars you think of when you fell on the pavement flying from the swing you jumped off in the park that you played with your friends.
These are scars that are worse than these on my wrists that labeled me suicidal from a blade that whispered like a devil my desire into my ear.
They are what I fear the most than death, but if I told you...would you ever believe me?
Do you see what I see when I look at these scars on my body that dismiss the thought to heal?
They are what was carved in my body like the valleys on the earth’s skin on a tapestry in a painting.
No, those are far more beautiful, they are more beautiful than I could ever be. Is this what you see when you look at me?
“ They are beautiful,and so are you, You are beautiful.”
Do not feed me your meaty lies as if I was a starving dog!
But maybe you're right, dogs were born with soft fur like clouds on a sunny day, and eyes that shimmered with more innocence than any diamond held in the sun.
Then when they are older and their coat is no longer soft and the eyes are empty they are disregarded as disgusting.
Gross to smell and pathetic when it begs for mercy can make such a pitiful being.
Just for these scars that grown n this body from the only love given to, sentenced me to a life of lies and cruelty for having them.
These scars on these thighs, these arms, this back, my chest, and my stomach.
I cannot get rid of these scars, they are my shaggy coat and my dreary eyes filled with nothing but the dread and regret of what I see.
This stained face will haunt me, my eyes… they hide behind these glasses scared to come out to a cruel world.
If I remove them, will I be able to see myself the way you seem to see me?
Or is it you who cannot really see the thing I see with these melancholy eyes?