Dirty Marks

The markings go invisible
For those not understanding
They are the questioners
They ridicule our scars
As the tears we cry transform
Into a pool of our blood;
That. Is our scaring
You tell me I should be ashamed
Why must you punish me,
Have you not done enough?
Think of what made me so
I was distraught
Took it,
And dragged, deep, down
Think, of what made me so