Some people are so comfortable with their past;
they wear demons on their extremities like tattoos.
I am not one of those people.
I have scars that will never see the light of day,
they are painted on my legs like hieroglyphics
depicting an ancient battle.
The summer sun will never kiss that skin,
it will remain translucent white,
protected from ultraviolet rays
by fragile excuses.
I have scratches from ghosts
clawing their way out from the inside,
striving to make themselves real,
to be noticed by the outside world, screaming
"this pain
is not
metaphorical".
In my family you are supposed to play your strengths,
never let your weaknesses be known.
In their eyes I am a suit of armor.
My knees are shaking beneath pale thighs.