Cover It Up

Collections

There are many kinds of collections: some big, some small, some that people don't know exist. My collection is never seen, for no one needs to know. My collection is never heard, for my words remain unspoken; however, my story doesn't end.

I used to have friends too. I told some of my collection, and they thought that I was strange. "Why would a girl like you collect things like that?" they'd ask. But they don't know what thoughts hide here at night.

As they look at my collection, they learn to understand the long sleeves, the bracelets, and my never showing skin. They understand the darkening eyes and the scarlet tears that stain my pant legs. They begin to understand the showing of all my bones, but worst of all, they understand the reason I am alone.

None dare touch my collection, for fear of getting cut. None touch my collection because they know these silver butterflies that only seem to fly at night have kissed my skin.

They then stare at my body and understand the pain. I've held it all inside, but my shell remains the same. She laughs and plays and makes everyone smile, but for the inside, she can't do the same.