Scars © Poem by Roann Mendriq

A scar upon her pallid face,
screams of darkening abuse;
'I tripped upon the old staircase'
She ignores the purple bruise.

Blue handprints on her upper arm,
Clear tell-tale signs of rage;
'I didn't come to any harm'
She smiles as if on stage.

What makes a mighty woman weak?
What fills her soul with fear?
Why does she turn the other cheek?
Why does she stoop to still adhere?

The deepest scars will fade, and bruises always heal,
but a battered heart beats on, and slowly stops to feel.