My sister asked how I got my scars
That run half the length of my lower left arm
Casually, almost offhand, I asked her why
"If I had cuts like that I'd cry"
"Well little sister, perhaps it's best
If I lay your mind to rest
And say that I was not okay during this time
And we should focus on the present rather than what is behind"
She was satisfied with this, but I was not
My heart burst so hard, like I was shot
I want to protect her from this torturous truth
That "I was not okay" and was tempted to try the noose
More like the knife, I even had a plan
Yet I'm better now, I don't understand
Just like my little sister, things confuse me
Like what's in my head and what is reality