Ripped, shattered, torn,

words that describe the ragged mess that I am.

Gave him my heart,

blood, sweat, and tears,

devoted to the love that I thought was mine.

Wounds are suppose to heal,

stitching themselves over to reveal a scab,

but the scar on my heart will never go away.

A constant reminder of the darkness I went

through.

And even though I feel like I’m healed,

scars never truly go away.

So the tears, streaks that I once washed away,

darken once more.

And the echo of my internal screams ring in

my ears.

The scars on our hearts,

our trauma,

will forever stay with us.

Like a ball chain strapped to our ankles.

The scar on our hearts,

the unforgiving weights that we are now burnded

with,

makes us who we are.