the tiny tick marks on my skin

not what you'd think,

rather, i was mighty clumsy

and often times, bored

those are the ones that mark my skin

the ones that heal easily

the ones that i hide deep inside, though

they drip blood from the wounds continually

the abuse

the fear

the hate

and the thoughts

the words

the raising of a hand

the snears and laughter

the whispers in my head

those scars

don't heal as quick

i'm not sure if they heal

at all