I keep running, pretending
like I’m playing hard to get
so you won’t see the scars
so you won’t ask,
“who did this?”

So I don’t have to show you
how the scars still hurt
how some haven’t – and may not
heal quite right

sometimes at night, I can’t help
but notice the scars flare
like a busted open glow stick
and I can’t help, but to cry

So I don’t ***** up pain
only to have someone else
walk out like dad’s dad did
because
“it’s too much”
“I’m damaged goods”
“you should be over it”

Beat-up puppies feel love
even if it’s scared at first
or uncertain, or confused
they just need more time

But maybe this wall
translucent like frosted glass
will never come down

Or maybe, if this wall tumbles
will you please come in
and see who’s behind it?