Dear Mom,
I just wanted to say
that I might be okay.
I forgive you.
I love you.

Yes, I still wear sleeves
that cover up the scars
From your nails that
you would dig into my arms

And yes, I still get sick
when Dad says I should call
I have nothing to say.
Nothing at all.

Sometimes its hard for me
to smile, to laugh, to even talk
But I'm leaning to grow out of it.
I wish you could see me now.