These are my battle scars. They look like bad eating habits and fear of suicide. They look like can’t open my mouth because if something comes out it will be wrong. It won’t sound like it should.
They look like trust. The kind that is just called trust but at the end of the day it’s really just what I can do for you.
They look like abandonment. Not the way that you left me but the way I allowed myself to leave me. The way I stopped watching for me, crying for me, laughing for me or planning for me.
My battle scars look like hiding behind what I’m good at until it becomes a habit. Like breathing. Oh that’s another thing - I can’t when you’re near me. I can’t breathe or speak or be me because you’ve told me what I can be and since you’ve left me I’m starting to see that that me is not me and it’s starting to feel like free.
My battle scars look like everything is fantastic. On the outside. My world is neat and I wear my smile, but if you could see inside there is dirty laundry and unwashed dishes and a fridge full of the meals I never cooked.
My battle scars look like these feelings that I can’t give a name to and these arguments in my head that I can’t win.
My battle scars are moments. The kind where in one second I go from being happier than I’ve ever been to remembering where I’ve actually been and how it has brought me to where I am and how I love it here except when I remember this is not what I was suppose to have.
I was never meant to have all of these battle scars. I was kind and brave and unbroken. I was eager to enter the world, bold and beautiful.
I was not suppose to be this way.
