Feel

Feel.
A soul is broken somewhere
And I know you care.
This child is beaten,
Face red and swollen
 As the rivers
Flow from its eyes.
These marks on its back,
Its face,
Its arms and legs
Will scar. 
They will tell tales
Of a darker past
That comes in pieces.
Someone will ask later in life,
“What are these scars from?”
And it will say,
“I was beaten. I was thrown.”
The words will come casually
And without a second thought.
The one who questioned
Will be sick, sad, angry,
But the scars are reality
To the wearer,
And nothing more
After years of questions
They have become fact
Although they burn on occasion.
Sometimes the truth hurts,
But thank you for asking.
It’s nice to know that you care.
Sometimes a mere question
Ices the burn, 
And we feel together
Instead of feeling alone.
This is beautiful.