I Look Over My Body

I look over my body and what I have.
I don’t see much—just an old hag.
That may seem rude or hurtful to some,
But I’ve heard worse, so this feels like the kindest of all.

I don’t see anything to be happy about.
I see scars, tears, and pathetic wraps.
My legs are weak—there’s nothing there.
My heart is still beating, but in pieces I wish I could spare.

My arms are mostly clean, with some bruising.
My wrists are scarred from old mornings.
My thighs are a blank page, yet to be written on.
And my chest is scarred from being misunderstood.

Now this can go both ways: I can die or fade.
Which one do I pick? I pick death—
Because being alive or missed would be a lie.
Fading is different; it means much more.
Fading is being known but not cared for.
Fading is leaving, but not in sight.
Fading is disappearing like darkness in the night.

I’d rather die than fade.
I’d rather be pushed away.
I look over my face and what I see:
A soul, a spirit,
Someone in need.
But it’s too late—nothing is left.
The mind is filled with regrets.

I look over my body and see
Something so broken
The biggest question is: How could someone ever love me?