Scars

I run my hand across my wrist, The rough scars feel normal under my fingers, But to anyone else, they would be foreign. I was a fighter, I had to be, But everything has its consequences. Running the blade across my own wrist was mine, It was the only way for me to feel something. Since I was small I was forced to be strong, But a child should not need to be strong. I wasn’t even 14 and I had to fend for myself, I had to pick up my broken pieces. The scars on my body tell that story, They are reminders of my pain. I run my hand across my wrist, The rough scars remind me that I will survive, I did before, and I will now.