I flow through the world,
Scars unseen,
Matters on hand.
Everyone expects me to have bruises,
Tears never running dry,
Scars visible enough to pronounce empathy,
But I have none.
Behind the walls and scenes,
Are tests,
Tests upon tests,
What I should and shouldn't do.
Everyone calls me selfish,
For not standing up for someone to sit,
For not giving things up for other people,
Says it's all a lie because it's something that cannot be seen,
Only told,
Only felt,
Never seen.
I wonder everytime,
If my scars were to be seen,
Would I get more sympathy?
Or even empathy?
Will people finally allow me to rest?
Or will they use that as an excuse to distance themselves from me.
INSPIRATION: Invisible conditions because of what they are, aren't taken as seriously by the world. If the world doesn't see you with crutches, bandages or physically in pain, they may never believe you or call you selfish and never believe you may be disabled.
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