Hidden Behind Scars

The girl you called fat, she's starving herself. The boy you called poor; has to work till dawn to support his family. The boy you made fun of because of the ugly scars; he protected his brother.

~~~~~

You ask me why I never smile. You point at me whenever I smile as if I’m a spectacle. I’ll ask you why I don’t smile.

This fact, the both of us know: I used to like grinning before. But why did I stop? Ask yourself if why you called me “Buckteeth” every time I smiled and think whether you’re asking a redundant question. Ask yourself if it was my choice to have a 10-millimeter deviation. Ask yourself if commenting on my teeth every single time was being caring or simply trying to be smart, pointing out others’ faults and leaving them to be ashamed of themselves. Ask yourself if you ever think I already know about everything you keep saying. Ask yourself if you were- and are being stupid. Ask your stupid self if you even have the right to judge.

You think you’re being the nice person, involving me in your conversations. But you’re not, you’re really not. Staying in a corner alone is many times better than being made a joke of.

I tell my parents that everything’s fine. That I have nice friends that care for me. I can tell them that I wrote this on a whim and that everything’s a lie. Who’s to know? But if you look closer, you can see that I don’t smile. Well, not anymore.

Now tell me. Why don’t I smile?

~~~~~

You called her fat. Made fun of her size. Craned your heads to try and see her weight whenever they did body checks. Secretly looked at the slip she got so you could gossip about her BMI when she was gone. Though, you never really cared, did you?

You clearly knew that she was at the doorway, but continued talking at the tops of your voices. You were aware that her eyes filled up with tears upon hearing your remarks. But you didn’t care, did you? After all, trying to be cool, to be an insider, is everything.

Have you ever thought how she did not choose to look the way she looked, that she had no choice as to who her parents were and where her genetic information came from? Ever thought that she would develop anorexia, and start starving herself? Ever thought about how many times she considered suicide because her weight was something she couldn’t change?

You tell me.

~~~~~

You stared at him when you first laid eyes upon him. Looked away because Mom told you not to stare at people who look different. Couldn’t resist it and took another glance. And another. And another.

A large part of his face a lighter shade. Scars on his arms and legs. Burn scars.

You called him ugly. Made fun of his scars, called your friends to join in the fun. Ugly. Monster. Weirdo.

But you didn’t know that he protected his brother from the blazing beams in a house engulfed in fire, did you? Didn’t know he hugged his brother and used himself as a shield against the flames around them. Didn’t know that he stayed in that position until they found him and his brother, enduring the searing pain of the flames, and the sensation of his skin melting. Didn’t know that he covered himself up and buried himself in his hands to prevent his brother from seeing his state, from hating him. Fearing rejection.

And you never thought about how many skin grafting treatments he had to endure just to look a bit better, did you? Just gritting his teeth and chanting every time, “Just a little more… just a little more.”

Who’s the ugly one now?

~~~~~

You see his wrinkled clothes. The embarrassed look on his face whenever he’s berated by the teachers. And you call him poor.

You take a look in his bag and scoff at the fact that there’s barely anything inside. Noticing the condition of the bag afterwards and adding a few crude remarks so the “cool” people in class will notice you.

Then you look at his stationery and see that they are of the cheapest brands. Actually, no. They don’t even have a brand. You point that out and ridicule him again, making sure to say that extra loudly.

But you don’t know what he keeps to himself, do you?

Working till dusk for his family, even having to work when he’s sick, very well aware of the fact that a day he doesn’t work is a day that his family has nothing to eat. Saving up his money so his little sister doesn’t have to suffer the same derision as him, being able to buy stationery of better quality. Skipping meals so that his father can get better treatment, and get well soon. Losing hope again, only to forcibly regain it because there’s no other choice, no other way.

But even so, he doesn’t steal, nor does he beg.

Poverty in itself is not a crime. But losing your morals and going astray due to your circumstances is.

Now, you didn’t know that, did you?

Don't ever judge a person by how they look. You don't know the tears they hide behind smiles.

They think I smile,

they think I'm not mad.

They think I didn't hear

all the things they said.

Wish they'd have ears,

wish they'd have eyes,

wish they could see

all the tears I cry.

Wish they would know

how much it hurts

wish they would one day

finally learn.

If there were someone

who would see my scars

and tell me it's fine now

though the going was hard

I'd smile again.