I don't mind if you touch them,
but maybe she did,
I don't care anymore,
to me there just a pair of flesh,
but to her,
they're still innocent,
Mine have lost the specialness in the I want you to touch them,
Now it's met with I don't cares,
For I no longer have what she has,
those first time butterflies like i'm shy when I remove my top,
when it's the first time I show them off to you,
because they're not special anymore,
when a time in my life my brest made me happy,
were I could look in the mirror and feel good about something,
but they became nothing,
so now I look and see nothing but a black canvas of disappointment,
everytime I stare at my reflection,
every time I see my wound,
our wound,
because that's the one that everyone sees,
the rest I made are hidden just for me,
and I wish our wound was like that,
I wish I could totally remember what happened to my breast,
but all I remember was burning right over the year old scar again,
because the pain of remember hurt more then my second burn,
but the first time you were the one to burn me,
and I had hid it so well,
but there came a time where I didn't care,
and I showed it off,
battle scar? call it what you want,
if you wanna grab my **** go for it,
they have gone through worse assault,
if you wanna see them,
it's not going to mean **** to me,
and I am really sorry that thats hows it's been for me,
but it's not my fault my ***** innocence was stolen from me,
because of a *****,
with what used to look like the end of one of his cigarettes,
a **** poem, go figure......