The little red lines that mark my flesh
Are one of the only things that remind me my life is still going—

The way my blood fills those open lines,
Reminds me my blood is still flowing through my broken veins—

The way limbs sting in the shower,
Reminds me my nerves are still alive despite the numbness—

And the attention,
the yelling,
shows I’m not fully invisible to the people I saw leave.