These Scars Bleed

This blade is cold, but it burns as it drags across my skin.

These scars I make, drawn by steel, are easily cut in.

Some are so deep. They keep reminding me of where I've been.

Some areas are so shallow, just like the people I have known.

Some are just as fresh as the lies you have shown.

Some so old and jagged and nearly to the bone.

I love my scars, and they will never leave; they are my memories.

I remember each one clearly - they show my weaknesses, and at times bravery.

One or two nearly took my life, sliced through to my artery.

So you see, I am a map to the blind; they can feel my hurts.

Others look and see my smile - never knowing underneath I may be curt.

I cover these scars as I wear my mask - avoid the questions people may ask.

This is my pain.

This is my story.

These scars are a part of me,

They don't need to be fresh to bleed!