Scars
I look over the scars that lay upon my soft legs.
Jagged.
Twisted.
A searing bright brilliant red.
Gleaming over my once snow white skin.
I couldn’t even help it at first,
It all built up.
My body becoming more and more rigind with every word they shouted.
My mind shrieking with pain every time the voices spoke again.
My emotions were overpowering me.
Taking control of my body.
Making my voice scream.
My legs shake.
My hands have seizures.
While I was trying to do everything in my power to ground myself.
Feeling the soft black polyester car seat against my skin.
Noticing my midnight blue trustworthy converse protectively hugging my feet
Holding my hands together, pleading...
For them not to resist me
I breathe in... I breathe out...
I breathe in... I breathe out...
Shutting my eyes
Focusing on nothing but my breathing.
My ears were the ones who betrayed me.
And then my hands.
Almost instinctively they did as their master told them.
Scraping my nails on their own personal chalkboard.
My emotions were the ones who had power.
Not me.
I was the peasant to the forever ruling king.
There was nothing I could do.
He was too strong.
He was the one who attacked my body.
My fair skin screeching as my jagged nails traced over them.
I felt skin mount up within the depths of my fingernails.
It was like fire.
Rising up and down my legs.
Over and over again.
He convinced me that this was a good thing,
That my legs would look much better this way,
Or that my body would look much better without me in it.
And I fell into his trap.
And every word they yelled at me..
Made my hands desire to carve endlessly.
Until there is nothing left but bones.
And now I wear pants.
To hide the scratches,
To hide the burns,
To hide the bruises,
To hide the blood,
Of when this has happened millions of times before.