Scars
A Narrative of Those Wounds, Skin Deep and Soul Deep, that Never Fully Heal
I have scars on the outside—you know—
ones that lie
on the skin,
ones that come
from enduring physical attacks:
like when I fell off of my bike
and scraped my knee;
like when surgeons cut me open
and repaired my body’s damaged tissues;
like when my razor slips
and my skin is nicked;
like when I intentionally tear my flesh
and release my blood
in order to release my anguish,
desperation abounding.
I also have scars on the inside—you know—
ones that lie
on the soul,
ones that come
from enduring emotional attacks:
like when you ogled me
and touched me without my consent;
like when you told me I wasn’t enough
and never would be;
like when I used those pills to numb this pain
over and over and over again;
like when I berate myself
and hate myself
and call myself each and every cruel name there is,
mercy nowhere to be found.
You may ask,
Which hurts more?
Some would say to you that
blood is the sign of true injury.
But as for me,
I say to you that
the sobs of heartache,
the wrinkled brow of anxiety,
the self destructive path of despair,
the fierce cruelty present when self esteem is absent
are the signs of true injury.
And, theirs are
the most difficult scars to earn.
About the Creator
Hannah Easop
A blooming wanderer based in Richmond, VA.
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