Poem

If you asked to see my scars
I wouldn't pull up my sleeves
and show you my arms.

I would reach down my throat
and pull out my heart
to show you all the nicks
and cuts
which have all but healed

I would ask you to count them
My heart in your hands,
then maybe you'll realize
that there's one for every time
i needed you
and you were absent
from the world.