The Scares You Left

by Kimberly C. Jones©

The feel of leather across my skin was nothing new.
Your anger lived in the welts blooming across my body,
and I was too young to understand your reasoning,
too scared to question your intentions.

I lived in a constant state of fear.
I moved quietly as a child,
trying not to be seen or heard,
never knowing what my next crime might be.

I learned early to shield myself from you—
to not speak too loud,
to not move too slow,
to not cry too much,
to not feel at all.

I carried the scars you left
deep within my spirit,
too afraid to let go,
too afraid of who I might become
if I ever let the pain run free.

And then one day you looked at me.
I didn’t know you were leaving.
I didn’t know these would be our last moments.
In your eyes I saw the ache—
the memory of the scars you carved,
the childhood you took,
the pain you pretended not to see.

And in that moment, you asked for forgiveness
in the only way you knew how.
Your last words still linger
at the edges of my mind:

“You know I did the best I could… don’t you?”

In that simple question,
in the stillness of the room,
in the silent pleading in your eyes,
I gave you the peace you needed,
and I gave myself the healing I craved.

I still remember the sting of leather
against my tender skin.
I still remember the venom in your voice,
the harsh words that settled
just beneath the surface of my memory.

But now I’ve learned to bandage the wounds you left.
I’ve learned to speak against the words
that tried to break my spirit.
No longer quiet.
No longer unseen.
A child finding the courage to fight—
a woman no longer afraid to be.