The Girl

I saw her for a few seconds at most
Her hair was blonde and shaggy
Dressed in a tank top and short shorts
An outfit I would wear
Shoes like mine
I saw a lot of myself in this girl
But the part that drew my eye to her
Wasn’t her clothing or hairstyle
It was the scars on her legs
Evenly spaced out, three inches wide
Horizontally marking her like the rungs on a ladder

She was smiling and talking to her friends
We are at a fairground
An odd place for such a sighting
“Why doesn’t she cover her scars?” I wonder
Then it occurs to me
Maybe she isn’t ashamed of her scars
She displays them for the world to see
Not as a sign of weakness
But as a sign of strength

I am a lot like that girl
Except I wear my scars on the inside
Afraid of what people would think if they saw
If they knew
Or if I had the guts to tell them
So I hide my scars
And let them slowly devour me
Bit by bit
Eating me alive from the inside


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About janinerussell

The transition to adulthood; reflecting on the past to create a better future.

One response to “The Girl”

  1. artsyblah says :

    I hear you loud and clear, when people ask about my scars I feel shame, but they only represent the internal pain…don’t let your scars eat you up inside…

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