As If
They cover my scars with roses, and tell me it will be all right.
As if some pretty petals will help me last the night.
They give me medication, smile, and whisper, "Hang in there."
As if it's all normal, as my suffering is fair.
They pat my head and tell me I'm too young to be in pain.
As if age matters to the clouds that decide to unleash their rain.
They lock me up in their "normal" box, and have the nerve to tell me to be grateful.
As if the constricting walls I've been put in could make me anything but hateful.
They bow their heads, tears stream from their eyes, insist they didn't see the signs.
As if the scars weren't evidence enough, of how I wanted to escape my confines.
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