Touch Me!

Touch me!
Run your fingers over my face
and say, I know you.

Say, I know how you feel
when the unshed tears dry
but the residue still salts
the shredded skin of emotions,
prickling your wounds until
you scrape away the scab to reveal
the festering sore of a word
not spoken, an innocent comment
that slashed deeper than a knife,
the silly remark that grew
like a cancer with its memory.

Touch me!
Let your fingers linger on the scars,
exploring their invisible ridges,
until they feel like your own,
then say, I know you.