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.
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,
Hollowed out to the brim,
But taking nothing,
Wondering when it will be safe to exit my shell.
— all rights reserved ©2020 Liz Tucker