Pen in hand,
Music blaring in my ears,
Filling my soul.
My heart.
My self.
I begin to crack open.
Dust the cobwebs from old memories,
Flip through a book of hurt.
Pain.
Sorrow.
With that pen firmly gripped,
I begin to bleed.
Spilling sticky redness onto the paper beneath as if it were ink.
I pour out emotions,
Everything I felt when my parents split.
When I was laughed at.
When I was hurt.
Frightened.
Threatened.
That wound that just was
Begins to heal.
Close.
Seal.
Pen skating across the paper,
Coming to the end of its routine.
I wipe the tears staining my face,
Set down the pen,
Stand up and walk away.
I'm off to find that bit of happiness
I need to disguise my scar.