I never told anyone.
I kept it all a secret,
Written on my arms.
It's hard to think,
That someone cares.
I think I still hate myself,
I'm still tempted by the pain,
Then I think of your face,
And the disappointment there,
If you only knew what I'd done,
To fight the battle.
If you understood the scars,
If you knew the reasons.
My scars are poetry,
They hold a story.
I know the past of each.
I wish I had the courage,
To speak up, bare my scars.
I make up stories,
About why they're there.
I say something stupid,
No one ever suspected.
They still don't.
But my body aches to tell.
For someone to listen.
If they truly looked,
They'd see it was already written,
On my arms.