red pen

Not a soul who says they care truly does, Though family and friends swear it's love from the heart. They turn from the scars, from the pain that grew past my peach fuzz- If they haven't cared yet, why would they start? My wrists ran crimson, sleeves soaked through, Staining white sleeves with what I don’t say. I showed my mom, hoping she'd help or truly see; She just glanced up briefly, then turned away. My favorite hoodies, all ruined and torn, Yet nobody noticed a stain or a tear. My ex just called bloodstains "a little quirk," And my coach said, "Push through—it’s just wear and tear." I regret each hand I once reached for, And think twice now before asking for aid. I told them it’s just red ink on my skin— Just a joke, a part of my charade. So I'll bury this pain, push it down deep, Lock it away, where no one can see. Why wish for sunshine while trapped in rain? Why ever expect that love’s meant for me?