The Splinter Beauty

The Scars

Angie Eliza

Edit: the picture above belongs to the original creators.

Her kindness,
her bubbliness,
an angel's reincarnation,
they say.
That is what she is known for.

Other emotions rarely touch her face;
never once was she mad,
never once did she cry,
even if rocks were thrown her way,
even if she was bleeding.

She would still smile and say,
"I'm okay."
If she ever shows any other emotion,
people say, "That doesn't suit you. Smile."
In other words,
don't show any feeling but joy.

Silence lingers,
dullness in her eyes,
double meanings in her words,
her cries for help
masked behind a cheerful mask.
Her scars ever itch on her skin and heart,
hidden beneath layers of clothing.

Nobody takes notice;
nobody cares.
After all, she does not exist
unless people need someone to talk to—
then she would be remembered.

Her birthdays go unnoticed,
her passions dismissed,
her favorite musicians forgotten,
her true self eclipsed by expectation.

Nobody sees her scars,
her broken heart,
her cries for help unheard.
People say they care,
but they do not hear,
do not see—
the pain that girl is going through,
the scars that continue to grow on her body.

In the quiet hours,
when the laughter fades,
she searches for solace,
a place to be real,
but the mirror reflects only a smile,
a façade crafted from the weight of others' needs.

When darkness creeps in,
she feels the weight of the world,
the pressure to stay bright,
to hold up the sky,
but inside she is unraveling,
a threadbare tapestry of hope and despair.

So she dreams of a day
when the mask can slip,
when tears can flow freely,
when the world might embrace
the girl behind the smile,
the one who longs to be seen.

But for now, she wears her armor,
a glittering shield of joy,
hiding the chaos within,
waiting for someone to notice,
to reach out,
and say, "I see you."

For beneath the angelic guise,
there's a soul aching to breathe,
a heart that wishes to mend,
and a girl who yearns
to be truly known.