my childhood speaks in these scars.

Trigger Warning: Child Abuse

A few days ago,
My lover had my hands in his;
I loved the way his eyes sparkled
And his lips curved into a stunning smile,
As he brushed his fingers
At the back of my palm

There we were,
Living the blissful moments of
Our once-in-a-lifetime romance;
But then,
All my metaphors came down crashing
Falling into a white scar,
Leaving my poetry naked

He dug deep into my eyes,
With an unsaid question
And all my charm
Went splurging into tears

–

I was seven
When one of my uncles
Burnt my hand
With a scorching hot iron

I still remember how it felt
Having my skin stuck to that piece of metal,
And then,
Later
How it broke my heart
Into a thousand tiny pieces,
Looking at those tiny boils

I froze;
Didn’t scream at all;
Not even a cry for help

It felt like all my sentences
Had strangled my tongue
Into a paralyzed piece of flesh;
Unworthy
And too coward
To move

I looked at my hand,
And then I looked back at him;
With eyes as empty as a black hole

He was smiling;
A very crooked smile;
One that sent chills down my spine

I took a few steps back
And ran out of the room
Only to be followed by a mocking smirk

–

I have it all
Still alive
Still breathing in my head

Just as vivid
As a thing of yesterday;
Just as stale
As rotten bread

–

I whimpered as I cried
Coiled up in my lover’s arms;
All I wanted
Was for him to hear
My childhood speaking in those scars //

– Gauri Walecha