Something Scary

I turned myself into a scarecrow.

Because I needed to be something,

scarier than the parasites

that fed on my happiness..

The lines up and down my arm,

on my thighs,

traced across my stomach,

horizontal on my wrist,

vertical on my shoulder,

these scars—

all became the seams

holding me together.

I told myself I had to be a monster.

I told myself it was the only

way I would make it to tomorrow.

I convinced everyone that I would

survive.

I was scary enough to win;

depression, 

anxiety,

had nothin’ on me.

They were just crows,

feeding on happiness.

And I was the monster

scaring them away.

But a scarecrow,

is all smoke and mirrors.

And behind closed doors,

I tried to pay for my life

with blood.