Let Me In

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I see you. I really see you, the way you really are.

I see the little girl still inside of you, cowering in a corner as your parents scream and scream. I see the little girl who cried when her mother came out of the room, bloody from where her so called soul mate had hit her.

I see the way you really feel. I see that you try not to eat because you're convinced you're too fat. I see the way you try to bleed the pain away.

I see you.

And, I want to help.

But you won't let me. You push me away every time I try to help. Every time the subject comes up, you push it away like it is nothing.

But, I see. I see the scars creeping up your arms. I see the pain in your eyes when people yell. I see the fear in you when your parents are mentioned.

I see you when you think noody is looking, when you think it is safe to cry.

And it is. I want to help. I really and truly do.

But you need to let me in before I can help you.

You need to let me come inside, you need to let me see you.

But you won't.

And I am scared for you.

The scars are multiplying now, creeping up your arms, and you look sick. Your eyes look sad and sunken, your face looks pale and pasty.

Please. Let me in.

Let me in so I can help you.





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