Plant a seed of happiness,
Wonder, dreams, and smiles
And up grows a lovely flower
Whose beauty shines for miles

Plant a seed of angry rage,
Hatred, lies, and snarls
And up grows a wicked vine
In skin those thorns will burrow

I've spoken of excitement and joy
I've talked of love and heartbreak
I've listened to words of wisdom
I've made a decision, for my own sake

It's been a long day
Of constant conversations
So it's the kind of afternoon
To sit with my malfunctions
And make it
Just peppermint tea
And me

This is not a poem
About friends
Or lovers
Or relationships at all

This is not a poem
About cars
Or guns
Or politics of the world

This is not a poem
About places
Or people
Or creative ideas

This is not a poem
About swings
Or trees
Or other silly things

This is not a poem

But really, it is

To let a scratch heal
You leave it alone
You don't pick, don't scratch
Let it bleed on its own
Until the blood runs out
Or a new scar forms
You just leave it alone
Let the cold blood warm

This about scratches, bruises, or scars
Everyone knows it's true
Then why, I ask, must you bother my own?
When these scratches were caused by you?

You've seen the blood
And the pain on my face
You've heard my cries
For a sort of embrace
But instead you pick
And poke and scratch
You make the bad worse
In my throat the tears catch

So my scratches keep bleeding
And new scars seem mundane
While old scars keep waiting
To bleed once again

But looking at these scars,
The scratches on my heart
I ask you a question
One to be asked at the start

Is it better or worse,
Or does it matter not,
To cut a new wound
Or have an old one sought?