My poems

Scars

each of these scars on my skin (paper)
tell stories and my fingers touch them to hold my memories
because i remember opening up and i hated telling anyone
how i felt
and what it was like to see my insides pour out
and that i still wanted to do it,
i still wanted to decorate my arms, thighs, shoulders, hips, and heart
with little pink red purple lines
i remember when he grabbed my arm and i cringed and flinched and sucked air in through my teeth and my chapped lips
and you knew
through all that blue fabric you could see
my scars