It can be beautifully awful
or awfully beautiful
with so many hurtful memories
and untold stories
but mostly are depressing and
unwanted marks of the past
****** or Heroine?
by Michael R. Burch
(for mothers battling addiction)
serve the Addiction;
worship the Beast;
feed the foul Pythons
your flesh, their fair feast ...
or rise up, resist
the huge many-headed hydra;
for the sake of your Loved Ones
Keywords/Tags: drugs, addiction, user, ******, needle, tracks, marks, pain, despair, recovery
"It'll heal someday,"
That's what they all say.
But I don't think they realize that some scars,
Don't just leave with the stars.
How can I hope that it'll heal,
If I can't even seem to admit how I feel?
You marked me,
And now I'll never be free.
The stretch marks on my thighs prove that I am a descendant of the mermaids and the gods.
They shine and appear light on my skin like how the sunlight dances on the top of the water.
They are signs that my body has endured and will continue to survive as the world moves on.
They weave across my skin like the beginning of a beautiful tapestry that will only become complete in time.
Learning to love myself again is hard, but my naked body is slowly becoming mine again.
The stretch marks are art on my skin, my own natural tattoos.
Let them show.
An unsettled feeling twists in my gut, as I think of everything I haven't done. Every ounce, fragile pound of weight set upon my bones, leaves me lethargic. There is more to my life than work. My friends are embodiments of love, that God or whoever made us, gave to ease our pain. I am caught in the joy of movement. The joy of travel. The idea that escapism is enough. But how do you escape your own brain? How do you escape your own body? This life is what you make of it. But I want to know what made me. Am I truly in control? Or is this all some sort of sick joke? My thoughts are made up of question marks. But question marks do not give me answers. And what if I get the answers I want but they don't settle right with me?
What if this life is made up of more than question marks?
I am a walking talking PSA for the incorrect way to live
Number of dollars in my bank account matches how many ***** I give
Pay for gas so I can go to work
I get stuck behind the transit again
I'm gonna go berserk!
A little ****
Start my day
..Or more like a lot
The location of my pipe I've somehow forgot
Bloodstains on jeans
For breakfast had coffee and a bag of jellybeans
Bearing ***** nails and even dirtier mind
A hole in my pantseams right in the behind
Positive thinking not doing me any good
Failed everything I have tried believing I could
Negative thinking has not worked either
Found success in neither
The marks humans left on skin and my feelings
Turned my pride into a pile of peelings
Where am I going?
Haven't a clue
Trying to climb out of the hell I fell into
Going crazy searching for an escape route
That does not exist because there's no way out
I’m so hot...
I’m burning up
Anything to hide the marks
Prevent their discomfort
At the cost of my own
The mirror holds my memories. I scan my body and relive the beauty.
I see the evidence of your mouth on my skin;
I remember the sharp sting of your teeth on my *******;
The ache as your large hands squeezed my ******* until I arched up into your palms.
The bite mark on my inner thigh reminds me of how my screams sound over the hungry noises you make when your mouth devours my center.
The bruises on my hips are a record of the moment when my ride became too much and the spasms of my ****** pulled you over the edge.
The soreness of my muscles are a testament to the fact that once will never be enough.
You leave your mark - a branding of ownership for all to see. I bask in the glow of being yours and wonder how long you will keep me this time; wonder how long before you throw me away again for something better.
I got myself tattoed
On the places
You used to leave
Love bites on
The bitter sweet marks
I wish i could relive
But has already come to an end