Her blood ran deep
So did her cuts.
She loved seeing the blood slowly seep from her wrists
and she covered them up
She broke glass and cut too deep
Her scars are what hold her past-
-Or what's left of it.
She never told anybody
She thought she deserved it.
Now, a year clean, her scars show her
fears
faults
memories
weaknesses.
But she's proud.

they say poetry is boring
I say poetry is a Goddess
exempting her patrons
from mortal bores and
group thinking legions
she kisses with the
certainty of words
and
manifests the glory
of effervescent moons