The signs have always been there
You chose to ignore the marks
on my wrists, my thighs, my feet.
I chose to ignore your furrowed brows
And I chose not to offer pleads.
I cannot remember a time before I was this broken
Before your calloused hands roamed my bloodless skin and left in its wake, marks more permanent than any tattoo you don’t approve of.
And now
I’ve learnt to make jokes at my own expense to prove that my pain is owned only by me