Poetry

White Lines

You see that girl?

Over yonder,

Walking down the street?

Take a look at her arm.

Take a look at her battle scars.

Take a look at those white lines.

Man kind caused them.

Depression caused them.

Cruel words, hitting her like a ton of bricks, caused them.

You think nothing of it.

You think their cat scratches.

That's because when you ask,

That's what she'll call them.

Cat scratches.

You'll never know that she has a blade that she slides across her perfect pale skin on her own.

You'll never know that she cries herself to sleep at night.

You'll never know if you don't try to find out.

Do you see how she smiles?

Her eyes don't shine.

There isn't a single twinkle.

That's when you know that the white lines

Aren't cat scratches at all.

Still, you let it slide as if it's nothing.

But you don't know that she's safe.

You don't know that she's not hurting herself to relieve the pain.

To her it's okay to have white lines

Because it shows people who she is.

And you'll never know

That the white lines are because of you.