I am a master at opening old wounds,
Scars cover my legs from the bug bites i can never stop picking no matter how many times my mother tells me i am only going to make them worse.
It is in my nature to
Pick and pick and pick,
no matter the blood shed or the pain inflicted.
Like a moth to flame, i was drawn to you and our endless cycle of
break up,
make up,
love you,
hate you,
love you so much,
It did not matter the
months and months and months
i spent picking up the pieces of my heart, i would always let you take out the stitches.
I used to think you were my forever, that one day we would own a big log cabin in the woods, and i would wake up to your face each morning and think, "We made it."
We didn't.
Feb 15, 2018
Feb 15, 2018 at 8:53 AM UTC
I am a master at opening old wounds,
Scars cover my legs from the bug bites i can never stop picking no matter how many times my mother tells me i am only going to make them worse.
It is in my nature to
Pick and pick and pick,
no matter the blood shed or the pain inflicted.
Like a moth to flame, i was drawn to you and our endless cycle of
break up,
make up,
love you,
hate you,
love you so much,
It did not matter the
months and months and months
i spent picking up the pieces of my heart, i would always let you take out the stitches.
I used to think you were my forever, that one day we would own a big log cabin in the woods, and i would wake up to your face each morning and think, "We made it."
We didn't.
Request permission to use this poem