Does he see?
Does she notice?
Do they all stare at me because they see what's in my head?
Doubt it.
They're all the same.
Each and every one of them.
They look at me with their pity,
which I reply to by souring my face in return.
That scar. That wretched, life taking scar.
Because of what?
A car accident I could have prevented,
had I been driving only, instead of LOLing my friends.
God's punishment for driving into that family van?
A totaled car (which no one paid for) ,
a grounding (whatever) ,
and a scar (that I can't live with) .
No matter how much plastic surgery,
no matter how many creams,
the scar is here to stay says the doctors.
Now I must live with it, like a noose around my neck.
They stare at me like an animal,
a rotten girl with a bad attitude, and now a face to match.
I hate this noose,
the scar that lies, stretches across my (once perfect) face.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem