Inspired by a prompt on Pinterest: Imagine your emotional scars were physical. Describe how you look.
Underneath the flawless makeup you see me wearing;
The charming smile and the confident gait I take;
Hides a broken and messed up shell of a person.
If only you could see my emotional scars;
You’d see how much I’ve endured;
And what I still have to deal with;
But since you can’t see them;
Maybe I’ll try to paint a picture with words;
I’d describe how I look emotionally in physical terms;
Ignore the perfectly shaped eyebrows;
And the color-powdered eyelids;
And imagine me with sad, puffy, red-eyed face;
Exhausted and stressed by the countless cries;
Imagine my heart literally out of place;
Hanging on by a torn muscle;
The excruciating pain of having to carry a heavy heart;
And every breathing moment brings its own pang;
Tried stitching up my bleeding heart;
And it survived the brutality it suffered;
It’s stronger than I thought;
Only to be ripped out again and again;
Whenever I thought it was all over;
It would start beating again;
Pumping purpose into my veins;
Look at my feet, what do you see?
Smooth skin and well-trimmed nails, huh?
Whereas the soles are all bruised and bloody;
From having to walk on the broken pieces of my life;
My palms are all cut and roughened up;
From having to gather my broken pieces;
And trying to fix them again like a puzzle;
But I’ve learnt the hard way;
That the puzzle changes after every breakdown;
So the parts don’t fit the same way anymore;
The full lip glistening of gloss;
Is sore out of the constant assault of my teeth on it;
Biting it hard to keep myself from wailing in public;
Or exploding when my heart can’t take it anymore;
As for the hair, I’m sure you can tell;
That I’ve hired a lawyer of a weave;
To cover up for my helpless balding-in-progress;
My hair falling off thanks to depression;
My seemingly smooth skin that you see;
Is peeling away due to the canker of stress;
I’m the picture of an emotional wreck;
Etched into a fleshy canvas;
Don’t I appear chubby and healthy?
With a well-endowed figure to go with it;
But I’m helplessly starved and skeletal;
Whenever you see me smile the broadest;
It’s when I’m sobbing the hardest;
Whenever you see me walking the fastest;
It’s when I’m limping in pain;
Whenever I look so beautiful;
It’s when I feel so ugly;
I wonder how many people would approach
The beautiful ones if they could see the emotional scars
They carry and how broken they are;
Indeed the things the eye cannot see;
Are more real than what it can see;
When will the charade end?
When will the mask come off?
When will the scales fall off our eyes?
So we can see beyond what we normally gaze at;
And appreciate what we usually pay no heed to;
How do you look like with your emotional scars on display?
© Josephine Amoako 2016
***Kindly subscribe to my newsletter. Thanks!***