Sometimes, I wish I had the scar.

He threw a tape dispenser at my head,

the three-inch blade smashed my right temple.

I cried myself to sleep, hidden in my bed.

I wish my dad had could see

the long-term damage, the pain,

that he had invoked on me.

Even hidden scars don't heal,

that's just common sense.

Just because he can't see it,

it doesn't mean it isn't real.