a boy once told me
that he loves girls with scars
and wouldn’t want to date someone
it may seem strange to you, I said,
but my scars having nothing to do with you.
my scars are not a dotted line
with instructions for you to “kiss here.”
do not romanticize the worst time
in my life, and the marks that come with it,
because they are nothing more
than evidence of a life lived and fought for.
my scars are a part of my story.
they do not make me a better person
or a lesser one,
but they do make me human.
so do not rewrite my story to make it your own,
to make you the “savior” who helped me live,
you may have made my days brighter
but you are nowhere close to being my sun.
I may have been lost, but it was I
who picked myself off the floor
and put myself back together -
not my parents nor my friends nor you.
everyone has struggles they must fight in their own way,
but my battle scars, my skipped meals, and downed pills,
those are not beautiful.
I am still here, and that, that is beautiful.
instead of speaking out
I bite blisters into a curled fist,
whisper protests into the curve of my elbow,
and cry out into the space between my knees.
it’s like screaming out into space where
no one can hear you when you need them most,
and no one can save you
from the monster that is your own reflection.
there’s a bitter taste left behind
by my own shame and insecurity,
and there’s nothing else I can do but ignore it,
force it down, and hope it goes away on it’s own.
it doesn’t and it won’t and I can’t do anything about it,
at least not today.
I know I’m not the only one who is suffering right now, but I do know that I feel so so alone.
that it gets better
but my bones still ache
anytime someone touches me,
and I can feel the traces
of your hands on my skin
as the phantom bruises
throb in retaliation.
that time heals all wounds
but I’m still bleeding onto the floor
struggling to breathe,
and I can feel the terror
as I try my best to run
from something I can’t see.
that it wasn’t my fault
but all the signs were there
I was just too blind to see,
and I can feel your sneer
everywhere I go
as you revel in the power
that you took from me.
that is gets better
but in reality
it’s you that gets stronger,
and I can feel my strength
returning every day
as my path travels farther
that my wildest dreams.
sometimes late at night
I swear I can still hear your voice
as it echoes inside my empty apartment
and reminds me of movie dates
with too much popcorn
and too many choices
and too many kisses shared under the cover of darkness.
it’s not just at night, either.
sometimes when I wake up
I swear I can still feel your warmth
leeching off the left side of the bed
and it reminds me of morning sex
and breakfast in bed
and ignoring the world, if only for just a little bit.
sometimes it’s four o’clock on a sunday
and something reminds me of you-
a tv show, or a music note,
or one of those god-awful articles
you clipped out and stored in a folder on the desk.
either way, sometimes I think of you
and laugh or smile or cry,
and wonder what you’re doing
or how you are.
I hope you do too.