Scarred
Cut, slits, slashes, bruises,
They sometimes leave a scar.
But pain, sorrow, regret, and sadness,
Always leave a mark.
Making it unforgettable, unbearable, and unerasable.
Being scarred for life.
They can see the cuts and slashes
On my hand.
But they can't see the stitches and bandages
In my heart.
Each scar reminding me of why it's even there.
The pain that led to it.
The stinging, aching, throbbing pain,
No words to describe, no way to explain.
I wish I could cut my heart out,
So I don't have to feel like this.
But instead I take my hand out and cut my wrist.
Then I see the crimson, flowing free.
I did this,
Because I felt abandoned, lonely and angry.
I was insecured, confused, isolated.
Rejected, disliked, hated.
There was so much pain inside of me,
That sometimes I wished to die.
But I just ease it with the cuts on my hand
And with a silent cry.
I wanted to end it.
But I knew I couldn't.
Because there was so much more that lies ahead.
So I want to start again, start over.
Because I know one day I'll be able to recover.
And I know these wounds will heal.
But no matter what happens,
These scars will still be here.