Scars

Don't Judge Me.
Life is a Gift. they tell me.
So, can i take it back?
What's the refund policy?
Why? the ask me.
Over,and
Over, and
Over again.
their mouths make little
tsk-ing sounds. their eyes
glaze until all they see are my
scars. cuts.Cries for help.
my wounds speak louder
than i do. i am not asking
for this help. they are not asking
if i want it. my scars only
tear my outside. i tell them
but they see my soul as torn
as my outside. why? i ask them.
do you refuse to hear my words
but can pick up on the screams of my
scars?