Why do we laugh
And pretend
We are friends?

We know the history we have
The scars still show
On our skins
We just hide them with
Amish skirts
And stockings
and thick coats

I see the scars
When I look me in the mirror
There on my spine
That’s where you stabbed me!

Do you know
I still have back problems
Because of that?

Why do you laugh with me?
And why do you
Get insulted
When I can’t trust you
To go behind my back
Even to put on
That gold necklace
You bought me?

Do you just want me
To get over it?
To snap out of it?

I am still angry!

There are scars
Black stab marks
Where my skin
Should be brown
And plain

I am not angry
That the scars are there
And that
They shouldn’t be there
In the first place
I am angry because
You pretend you don’t see them

I am not angry for being hurt
And that you knew  it

I am angry that you refuse
To acknowledge it!

Made of Sand
Not Dura, but Alaminadura

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