You want to know my secrets? What lies beneath the pretty? The scars I can’t let anyone see? The scars tied to my secrets?
On the outside I appear normal. Some might even say perfect.
They say that I’m a pretty girl. They say I should be happy. They say that I have nothing to be angry about. That I’m popular. A cheerleader. The perfect student.
Perfect. Perfect. Perfect.
But all they see is what’s on the outside.
On the inside I’m raw, open, bleeding. Scars that can’t seem to heal the wounds.
And it’s slowly killing me.
Tattoos. Piercing. Scars. The guy who can’t speak.
Gothic freak. Mute. Punk. I’ve heard it all.
They say that I’m probably dangerous. That the scars came from myself.
They say people should stay away from me. They say that I’m not worthy to be out in the world.
They say. They say. They say.
But who are they anyway?
To decide what I am.
They don’t know what’s hidden beneath the scars. Beneath the piercings and tattoos.
Beneath the silence.
Maybe if they did they wouldn’t fear me so much.
Then again, maybe they’d fear me more.