Why is it that every time she does something right it’s wrong?
That every time she cries,
She’s the one that scars.
That the salty H2O droplets that run down her face aren’t for her but
yet a blur.
Why is it the people who had her back are the ones letting her fall?
Her blood shed tears are made of violation and betrayal.
The darkest of thoughts penetrate the surface of her very mangled body.
1000 scars are imprinted in a perfect pattern down her very fragile figure.
But you are oblivious to this fact.
Because you only choose to see the face see puts out into the world.
The face that she has perfected over years and years of practice.
You see her as this swallow, obnoxious child,
Because you made her that way.
You have made her hurt to the point beyond repair.
Her imprinted scars don’t wash away with water.
These are the scars that have been made by unwanted hands.
They have been ripped open by the same people day after day,
But when happens when she speaks the truth?
When this little girl scratches her voice into the sound waves?
Well,
She gets told to keep her head held high and take the heat.
Because,
After all,
She’s just another statistic,
Right?