the truth is:

i could tell you that ignorance is bliss

but it isn’t.

the truth is: I’m covered in it.

the lies fall like loose-fitting fabrics

and the truth is black and blue.

but I don’t remember it.

my body keeps the memories my brain cannot

I bleed somewhere I cannot see

my skin wears scars not scabs

etched into my figure, permanently

the one in the mirror staring back at me

I recognize her only sometimes, in short bursts

in overalls with my favorite t-shirt underneath

but most days I gaze blankly at someone he calls “pretty”

sometimes “cute” and maybe “sexy”

all I see is emptiness, missing spaces, blurry

what I know is this: when he touches me

it’s not beautiful

it’s just a lie.

- beautiful lies lie on beautiful eyes lying on beauty