I am scared; deeply. It is a hot summer day outside and I am covered up, every inch of my body, yet I can feel the scars underneath. I am being summoned to the same place where I got them: home. The audacity for them to call me back. I hesitantly walk forward; I swallow hard. Inside everything is still the same and in place, but I still get the chills. I can feel the walls of home caving in as they hold the stories never told.

These scars I got in the same living room where the casket is standing. My once holder turns around and comes forward to embrace me, but all I see is someone that used to burn me with cigarettes, who bit me on my shoulders, who called me a kroeskop and fat ass. The person who flattened an iron against the skin on my hip. When I couldn’t stand it anymore I ran off leaving my abusive mother standing there.

I am still scared – inside and out.