SCARS

If one could see right through me, one could say I am ugly and disfigured. I have multiple scars of all kinds. At night when I take off my clothes and look in the mirror, I see all sorts of scars, some are visible, most are not. I have multiple cuts, in the middle of my fingers,on my forehead, various burned marks on my arms and legs, and countless concealed wounds and bruises all over. I also got hot water burns too that no one knows about. It's funny how whenever I examine myself I find a new scar. There had been so many incidents; I can’t remember which one caused scar. Sometimes I look at one and try to remember if it was the broom, or the belt. The memories are blurred but the pain remains.

I cover and dress up myself, as much as I can. So that people don’t see these scars—the scars that don’t seem to fade away. Because when they see, they ask about them and It's pretty awkward to tell them how I got them because knowing me its kinda hard to believe.

I remember those days when I’d run to our neighbors house. I would run and hide under the closets, under beds, even under the house. I'd cover my ears while silently screaming my prayers. Sometimes I would get lucky when our neighbors let me come in. Other times they would find me then I’d be in more trouble. So it was an all or nothing sort of a risk I would take.

The problem is, I can hide some scars, but some, I just can’t. Every time I look at the mirror I see the cut mark on my forehead. I still don’t know what it was that hit me. And then I see those burnt marks on my legs. I still don’t understand why they had to hit me again and again. I was so young back then, what could I have possibly done to be punished like that.

I wanted to run away. I wanted to run away but I couldn’t. I was too small, and they were too big. They could scare anyone.And I was too ashamed and too scared.

But I am okay now I guess, or maybe I still don't know. I left them eventually. They would have killed me if I hadn’t left. So I guess I am a lot better now. But I don’t really know how to get rid of these scars and wounds and bruises. They always stay, Especially the unseen one, the one HUGE unhealed wound, I always carry since the day I was born. Usually I ignore them and just go on. That’s how it is. I cover them up. I ignore them. And when I need to know just how human I am, I touch them. I look at them. I remember. And if I remember enough, I just cry. But then again I ignore them and go on again trying to be happy.