Invisible Scars Poem by Shannon Atherton

Your words, like whips, that swing through the air
Unbidden. But no one seems to care;
life goes on. No one knows how I feel
when my skin stings: the whips, for me, are real.

With every syllable you voice, I hurt inside.
My organs are scarred, my hands are tied.
I'm covered in blisters, and bruises - such pain
as this, I experience again and again.

In silence I suffer; the world knows not my fear
of what might be said, what I may hear.
Sometimes it takes little more than a word
for my face to throb and my sight to be blurred

with salty tears. But I won't let them fall;
instead I create an indestructable wall
between the world and myself - metaphorical bars,
and nobody sees my invisible scars.