• As they stare at me, what do they see? Do the see arms torn apart? Skin mutilated? A possibly disturbed girl? Do they see a broken child? Lost and alone with no escape? Do they see my world falling around me, crumbling to my feet and taking away my space to stand straight and tall? Do my eyes swollen from crying worry them, or scare them? Do my cold eyes from withheld hurt make them tremble? Perhaps, instead they see a happy girl. Are my eyes shining with a smile? Does my laugh cheer you up while you are sullen and sorrowful? Do they see creamy skin with perfect makeup? Do they someone untroubled? Do I seem the blessing girl, the girl with no worries and no hardships? Have they ever asked my name, or what I like to do? What do they see when they see me? Do they see me? As I look around, I see the knife I never held against me. The arms with unharmed and unmarred skin. As I gaze into the mirror, I don't see a warm smile, or icy eyes. As I look past the exterior, I can't begin to understand the interior. Who am I, and what do they see of what I show them? Can the see me?