'What is that so horrible
that I hear you complain?’
I hear them say,
as I count my scars to sleep.
I have heard these words many a times
and I don’t have an answer.
Why even my hurt needs to fight,
to have a place in their eyes.
For them, it is better it festers in my heart
rather than release itself on the page,
in fear that others might see
what they have done to me.
My struggles may not move mountains in your eyes,
but they are monumental to me.