Scars

I have my own set of scars.
Those who had the ideal childhood cannot see the scars.
They see excuses.
They see a life that needs to be lived outside of the past.
Those who had a rough childhood understands.
They see the constant pain.
They see the realm of reminders of things that happened.
I see that those things are not happening again.
I see that I am growing from them.
I see that I still feel everything.
I cannot forget what made me.
I cannot forget not remembering having parents because of the meth that was smoked in a pipe.
I cannot forget moving to many different schools because we never stayed put.
I cannot forget all those days of not having food, because meth was more important.
I cannot forget being shy and quiet because all I could think about was the day before.
All I could think about was the pipe and baggy I found in her purse.
I did not get close to anyone.
It was hard.
Hard to trust anyone when you cannot even trust your parents, the first two you think you can.
I do not have to get over what I went through.
I do not live a life of sorrow through it.
I live a life of happiness.
My mind just never forgets.
Pain does not go away.
It hides in deep places.
Scars do not disappear.
They only fade deeper.