my thighs
littered with war scars,
cuts deeper than
any man has gone.
they glitter a warm hurt,
as if telling
a sad love song.
hidden beneath
strong layers of linen,
I protect them
like a lion and its cub.
To say they weren’t deserving,
would be quite untruthful.
no one deserves pain
but me, i’m unusual.
born from long nights
and the thick fumes of liquor,
euphoria stench breath
made their minds think quicker.
myself, sitting here,
quarantined,
alone from the petty,
supercilious disaster,
we call the human race.
I look down at my scars in hope.
A lesson that taught me,
a great deal about
the wonders of my
own self esteem.
from hopelessness,
to the calm tide,
that lingers in my mind.
I know what is right,
but when my stars start to fall,
It seems to me,
that I don’t deserve
anything at all.
crying sorrow,
from my glossy,
swelled up eyes,
the demon on my shoulder,
paces patiently,
content with the
same laces as
when we had cut ties.
now the blade,
it has no purpose,
those long glistening lines
made personally by the
conflicted thoughts,
that grew like flowers in my mind,
have slowly faded away.
as time goes by,
sitting right where the
bottled up emotion resided,
lays many scars,
each telling a story
unique from all the others.
I live to see another night,
letting my scars, slowly recover.
(this is a poem i wrote a couple years back. i am doing much better than i was back then. please don’t get the wrong idea about this. poetry is how i cope.)
