I wear a black piece of cloth wrapped around my left wrist
So people always ask
'What happened to your wrist?'
'Is your wrist ok?"
And I don't know how to tell them the truth
So I just say yes, my wrist is fine
The cloth is just for decoration
Because how can I tell them
They hide the evidence of fights lost
Not the physical kind
With punches thrown and noses broken
With both prides and knuckles bruised
No, it hides the marks of battles waged
Deep in the dark recesses of the twisted, torn, and singed pages I call my mind
Waged and ultimately lost
For I am not perfect
My story is not a fairytale
Its littered with trigger warnings
Stuffed with pain
And seasoned with conflict
And I hate to lie
But I am not ready to take their hand
To lead them down the thorny winding path
To show them the nightmare I live with every day
So I hold in the trigger warnings
Hide away the scars
And push a sweet smile onto my face
To hide the shattered empty soul underneath