These Scars Aren’t Physical

A free-verse poem on the scarring affects of dealing with mental illness

It wasn’t until I was accused of cutting in high school
That I actually started cutting.

To this day,
I bear no scars,
No physical remnants of those days.

No,
The scars left behind are so much harder to see
But you can hear them
In my speech
The way I self-degradate;
I do not allow myself to be proud
Of my accomplishments.

You can still see the echos in my posture
The way my shoulders slump as I walk
Making myself smaller.

To this day I am still partly that person,
Confused,
Hollowed out to the brim,
Offering everything,
But taking nothing,
Wondering when it will be safe to exit my shell.

— all rights reserved ©2020 Liz Tucker

Poetry, Sustainability, Tech, Education | Software Engineer, Future Homesteader | https://linktr.ee/ltucker284

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