We’ve all got scars sometimes.
Lift up my sleeve and you’ll see mine.
Look into my soul, you’ll find them there too.
Break the glass of what you thought was true.

I hoped would love me in spite of it,
But since you act like you don’t,
You should know that
You’ll live your life a hypocrite,
Because no matter what you say or do
I may have scars, but so do you.

You hide your scars behind tight smiles
And tough faces
But I see more than you think;
I see all the places
Where your skin is mismatched,
All the patches that have been scratched,
Touched by the cruelty that you didn’t invite,
Where your skin’s only option was to fight.

I don’t blame you for being so cold.
The scar tissue made your skin fold and fold
Until you folded into yourself.

But I do blame you for the fact
That you feel you must subtract
Me from your life forever
To be free.
You’re acting like you are the bird
And the tether
Is me.

But if you feel as strongly as you do, I must say:
It’s not me who’s keeping you from going away.
It’s you.
You know you feel the way I do.

Yesterday,
As you shook your head, insisting it’s not so,
I saw the hurt in your eyes.
But after you had packed your bags to go,
You put up your guise:
An emotionless face.
You kept this mask on as you walked to the door,
And the last sound you made—
The final creak of the hinges—
Told me that I would see you and your scars no more.