Heather Harrisson

She

"She" has scars where no one sees,
Safe below her clothes,
Never shorts or T-shirts, no,
Makes sure to hide her blows.

"She" has scars inside her too,
Where "She's" been hurt before,
By friends, family or lovers,
Who broke her to her core.

"She's" a scar on her left arm,
From a trip to see a man,
Asking questions over and over,
Trying to do what he can.

"She" has scars on both her knees,
From when she fell in a daze,
Zombified, she walked,
Blood dripping, looking crazed.

"She" has a scar running down her leg,
From when as a child she fell,
From a ladder rung on her bunk bed,
Which broke, pushed her into a nail.

"She" has burn marks on her arms,
Accidents, and not so much,
From matches, ovens, curlers,
"She" knew she shouldn't touch.

"She" has scars across her chest,
Where a sharp blade cut her skin,
While she cried and cried and cried,
For someone to let her in.

"She" has scars on both her legs,
Cuts and even stab marks,
From when she couldn't take,
All the anguish in her heart.

"She" has scars from scratching skin,
Pealing her own flesh,
When nervousness and anxieties,
Make old wounds seem fresh.

"She" has a small scar on her toe,
From when her brother broke a light,
And shards of glass flew everywhere,
Giving them all a fright.

"She" has one scar on her tummy,
Light and fading now,
From a slice mark made before,
When she just didn't know how.

"She" has scars from riding bikes,
And falling down when young,
But they all fade into nothing,
Compared to the damage "She's" done.

Just a few tiny scars of hers,
Where accidents, unintentional,
But the rest "She" gave herself,
"She" knows its not conventional.

The lines drawn in her skin,
Mark her as a damaged woman,
Make her feel like "She" can't fit in,
As if "She" is less than human.

An intricate design,
Of patterns in her flesh,
Form a binary code of her life,
That "She" can never refresh.

The pain "She" felt at school,
And even in her home,
The friends who left her stranded,
In a sea of hopeless foam.

The scars inside her mind,
"She" also gave herself,
From years of always wishing,
"She" could be someone else.

And finally, her heart,
The ragged pulsing mess,
Of broken promises and hurt,
To which no one will confess.

All sewn together loosely,
So it's dripping as it beats,
Slowly draining her life away,
As the battered organ repeats.

You may think "She" is a coward,
A fool for marking her body,
You may even call her sick,
Say that "She" deserved nobody.

But "She" didn't start this war,
Against her own skin,
She wasn't born this way,
Someone made her begin.

So don't think you're excused,
From blame in all her troubles,
Somewhere down the line,
You probably made them double.

"She's" scarred forever now,
Because someone once was mean,
And it snowballed on and on,
Into ways you couldn't have seen.

So next time you want to be nasty,
Or make fun of someone else,
Think first of how your words,
May actually effect yourself.

Because if they are taken badly,
And the poor person sinks in deep,
To a habit so abusive,
So very easy to keep,

Then you have played a part,
In damaging their skin,
And you will feel that guilt,
Far down deep within.

Don't send someone down a path,
That ends in so much pain,
When you yourself are sitting,
Happy, right as rain.

Just think before you speak,
Because you will never know,
When someone will come calling,
With a sarcastic "Hello".

Followed by a string,
Of gross and garbled insults,
That push you to the edge,
And make you think it's your fault.

Then you begin your own,
War against your skin,
Marking deep and permanent,
To make the hate sink in.

You never know when you,
May become just like her,
All loaded down and hurting,
The pain just getting worse.

Don't make this life harder,
Than it already has to be,
Please just be nice to others,
So you don't become like "She".



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