some days I look at my wrists and see the almost invisible scars that hardly show but are still there.
it's funny how something that is only triggered within a moment will stick with you for the rest of your life.
it's like a mark telling you, look what you've overcome.
but at the same time
it almost looks inviting.
hey! one more scratch won't hurt..
right?

but what is it that makes me hurt so much that I need to see and feel the pain in some other place than in my head and my heart?

why am I still broken?
is it him? is it them? is it the rumors and the reputation? is it the broken love and the broken heart? is it the longing for home?
I'm broken
and I don't know why.

I want to blame it on him but I'm the only one to blame.
it's all on me
me.
me.

I wonder if people can see my scars.
do they notice them when my arms get red and they stand out like white stripes?
what do they think?
I hope that they care
but who am I to think that they care?

does this stigma define me?
what defines me?
should these lines really be considered stigmatic?

right now it's me against the world
and whenever I look at those scars
that's why I feel a trigger

because when it's you against the world, you feel alone, ashamed, misunderstood, sad
sad.
sad.