They don't see the real you,
all thy see is the scares on your arm.
They don't know you,
They judge you, for your scares.
They don't know your spirit, thy only stare.
They think they know your story by looking at your outer skin.
They don't know you.
They are shocked and frightful of you and yet they cry for you and you don't know why.
They aren't the ones that went through the painful,  daunting moments.
They think I'm my skin.
They don't know ME.
Why can't they see that?
Could I ever show them the pain I went through? The battles I have lost?
All they see is scares.
I try to cover it up, but there eyes lock unto your arm.
And the moment replays again.
They will never know the real me, I will hide it deep within.
Cause they don't want to know me, all they want to do is stare.