I wanted to hold your face,
to stare into your eyes and feel alive,
but it was the roughest surface
I had ever known beneath my palm.
For there was a permanent earth upon it
rift valleys, craters,
nation borders carved deep.
And your eyes
void like the dark,
holding nothing but haunted things
still fighting to survive.
I wanted to trace your chest,
map it anew for myself,
but I found handprints
burnt in red,
permanent.
Shallow, yet never filled,
marks that refused to leave,
clinging like memory
after war.
So I asked you to turn,
to hold you from behind
but what I saw there
was worse than what you showed me.
Claw marks deep enough
to make a wolf envious.
Claims etched in flesh
lust, hunger, betrayal
spelled out in silence.
A tale as old as time,
never spoken aloud.
I turned you back,
looked at your hands
cleaned, yet never clean.
Rough. Blood-worn.
Nails crooked like tree roots.
Hands that fix,
yet never heal.
Hands that carry mess,
but are never freed from it.
And though I am inexperienced,
I was curious to know you
but tell me,
would loving you
be twice the labor
for half the truth?
Did you choose me
for my softness,
or were you searching
for another quiet ruin?
You call yourself a builder,
yet you do not know your tools.
So certain in your truth,
you forgot
it takes two
to hold it steady.
And through your red-tinted sight,
you refused to see.
I refuse to build a man
so I refuse you.
You reach to be my hero,
but I choose to be my own.
This is not rebellion
I simply lack the desire
to fix what refuses repair.
Your silence toward yourself
was the loudest warning.
And I am grateful
it was the first thing I saw.
I choose me
without your permission.
Like a bird
that never needed
to ask
before it flew.
I do not hate you.
I simply see you
and that is enough.
Some stories are not meant to be rewritten,
only witnessed…
and gently left behind.
So I release you
to the version of yourself
you refuse to outgrow
and I walk forward,
lighter
than I found you.
Mar 23
Mar 23, 2026 at 8:45 AM UTC
I wanted to hold your face,
to stare into your eyes and feel alive,
but it was the roughest surface
I had ever known beneath my palm.
For there was a permanent earth upon it
rift valleys, craters,
nation borders carved deep.
And your eyes
void like the dark,
holding nothing but haunted things
still fighting to survive.
I wanted to trace your chest,
map it anew for myself,
but I found handprints
burnt in red,
permanent.
Shallow, yet never filled,
marks that refused to leave,
clinging like memory
after war.
So I asked you to turn,
to hold you from behind
but what I saw there
was worse than what you showed me.
Claw marks deep enough
to make a wolf envious.
Claims etched in flesh
lust, hunger, betrayal
spelled out in silence.
A tale as old as time,
never spoken aloud.
I turned you back,
looked at your hands
cleaned, yet never clean.
Rough. Blood-worn.
Nails crooked like tree roots.
Hands that fix,
yet never heal.
Hands that carry mess,
but are never freed from it.
And though I am inexperienced,
I was curious to know you
but tell me,
would loving you
be twice the labor
for half the truth?
Did you choose me
for my softness,
or were you searching
for another quiet ruin?
You call yourself a builder,
yet you do not know your tools.
So certain in your truth,
you forgot
it takes two
to hold it steady.
And through your red-tinted sight,
you refused to see.
I refuse to build a man
so I refuse you.
You reach to be my hero,
but I choose to be my own.
This is not rebellion
I simply lack the desire
to fix what refuses repair.
Your silence toward yourself
was the loudest warning.
And I am grateful
it was the first thing I saw.
I choose me
without your permission.
Like a bird
that never needed
to ask
before it flew.
I do not hate you.
I simply see you
and that is enough.
Some stories are not meant to be rewritten,
only witnessed…
and gently left behind.
So I release you
to the version of yourself
you refuse to outgrow
and I walk forward,
lighter
than I found you.
#ScarsThatSpeak#
