I look around at people unknown.
people don't know I've grown.
I walk around unseen.
They walk around unclean.
I look at my hand only to see red and pink.
these flames won't make me bleed,
they will just make me sting.
my skin is paper, the flame is the pen
leaving brown stories on my arm, and on my hand.
I look around at people unknown.
people don't know I've grown.
I walk around unseen.
They walk around unclean.
These scars on my arms are the stories I cannot tell.
My scars are risen like mountains on my skin,
Mountains that will never break.
On my body are rolling hills
Flat plains
And sharp pointed mountains.
I look around at people unknown.
people don't know I've grown.
I walk around unseen.
They walk around unclean.
