You judge me for looking normal. Really? Is that what you see?

You wear the marks of cutting to bring the pain to the surface. I wear the smile of always trying to hide the myriad of abuse, the belittling, the shame.

You bare you tattoos as a mark to let the world know what you think. I bare lack of memory for trying so hard to forget what all the world knew.

You display your piercings to proudly announce your break from society’s norms. I display simplicity to proudly announce I survived them.

You boldly claim your sexuality. I unleash mine in safety still remembering the repreaves when I didn’t.

You wear whatever you want and encourage people to look. I try to blend in to encourage anyone not to notice.

You say I am normal. Fine, a title I’ll graciously accept and gladly wear as honor. But when you look in the mirror and are content in who you see. Remember Normal can still barely glance at its own reflection, still scared to remember what it saw.