Battle Scars

Every time you come to visit 

I wind myself tight. 

Like a soldier going into battle, 

I dress in armour 

in the hope it will protect me. 

I wear a steel vest of rehearsed conversations 

and my shield is made of smiles that never reach my eyes. 

But there is no armour for words that slice like knives, 

and glances of indifference that reopen those wounds 

that never healed. 

Still – after all these years, 

you strike and I bleed. 

Is it that you could never control me? 

I was always a storm that you couldn’t cage. 

You called me the problem child because I carved my own path, 

because I never danced when you played your tune. 

Not like the other two.