Shaving

No one can know.

No one can know the truth.

The scars on my legs scream volumes,

Alerting the world that something isn't right.

Shaving, I say almost too quickly,

Every time someone asks.

I got them from shaving

And picking at the scabs.

The lie I have grown accustomed too,

To the point of almost believing it myself.

Until I see them.

The scars are a reminder.

They remind me of the hopelessness I felt,

The pain I couldn't deal with.

They line the top of my legs,

Lucky not very noticeable.

Shaving, I lie again as my shorts ride up,

Refusing to admit where they really came from.

My eyes glued to the eraser,

as my lips say the word a final time.

Shaving.