i don't bear many scars.
my skin is clean, spotted with brown.
i can count my scars on one hand.
there are three of them. on my hand, my elbow, and my knee.
but there are more, hidden deeper in the shadows.
you were not kind.
i do not bear any wounds from your treatment,
not anymore.
they have all healed.
we have healed.
somewhat.
i look at our house.
i've lived here since i was two.
i have no scars,
but she does.
the door hinge is broken from where you forced her open.
her door doesn't close.
her walls are withering, rotting away.
our house creaks.
i know all the places,
so i move over them.
silent.
hidden.
from you.
is it fair that she must bear the weight of what happened?
i feel close to her, my little house.
my home.
we survived your treatment,
but not without our damages.
i survived your treatment,
but i didn't escape it.
YOU ARE READING
Poems
PoetryA collection of my poetry. Simple writings I've just placed into one area. Please note - topics of abuse and mental illness may be touched on throughout. Please proceed with discretion.