I will never
hide
my story.
perhaps
a warning,
or a precaution of what not
to do.
but frankly,
I wouldn’t change much.
It really did make me stronger.
allowed me more empathy,
let me see
into a little
bit of horror
others go through.

don’t you dare
judge scars,
be grateful
you’ve been
trusted
with their
story.

Scars fading away,
Along with the memories
Of the hurt and decay,
The endless stories,
Coming back fresh,
Regaining their life on paper,
Carving into the flesh,
Disappearing later.

They say time heal all wounds
And though that may be true
For the majority of scenarios
It’s not an irrefutable fact

For our childhood scratches
May be a fleeting kind of pain
Yet there are some scars that life
Engraves deep within our soul

Like a bullet whose trajectory
Missed my heart by a few inches
But hit a far more damaging target
My very last bit of innocence

Now, when I look into the mirror
Every broken bone lost its meaning
And the echoes of who I once was
Are all that remains to be seen

No one speaks of this pain
The pain that is carried with wisdom
However a pain that aches no less
It's a pain that seethes without ease
On the heart, it beats with unrest,
Yet on the mind, it lingers as peace

i'd seen it burning, it was me
the one who'd set it up.
i'd never tell, never be seen,
but always be around.
there was some beauty to it that
i couldn't really share.
The flame and i were different, but
both always gasped for air.
i've seen it taking, felt the fear
it's gotten me before.
yet somehow it would lure me in
and ask to feed it more.
it's made itself known on my skin,
gently dabbing my hands.
i always knew that we were kin,
i knew it understands.
a rapsody of life and death, a fable
so intriguing, you couldn't
picture warmth so fatal,
or love so unforgiving.
it didn't leave no silver scars,
no petty, goudy patches,
i'm just a never dying spark
trapped in a box of matches.

I am a dead tree,
Hallowed branches waving in solemnity.
Wind whispering through my skeleton,
They tell lies to the young sprouts of the forests.
Convince them that not only is life a foolish game,
It's a foolish game they're losing.
An old soul, I stood tall watching poets come,
Then I began to wilt as I watched poets go.
The eyes that once admired my growth,
Turned to fingerprints and memory.
My bark is riddled with stories,
All the lovers that made a promise on my skin,
Leaving the now grim scars of foreshadowing.
I am a dead tree,
Hallowed branches waving in solemnity.

my body was once a temple to Daphne consecrated,
got razed by your sinful touch,
an ingenue bearing the grudge.
ephemeral eudaemonia, sempiternally anesthetized.


crimson substance will gush out from my lips,
running down my ******* and hips
it will splatter my ankles and thighs,
retracing the marks of the night you eroticized.


same old scars were once covered with epidermis,
petrichor smell, decorated with the salt of my tears.
backsliders will cry at my vault, murderers won't go to court;
left with a soul reduced to the coagulation of common thought.

What if?
What if
I told someone?
What if
they hate me for it?
What if
What if
I stop doing this to my body?
What if
you stop liking me?
What if
I stop and you leave me?
What if
What if
you hate me if you know?
What if
I didn’t tell anyone?
What if
then nothing changes?
What if
if I tell you?
What if
you worry?
What if
you think I’m a burden
What if
What if
What if
What if
What if
What if
What if  
I

stop


and



you




leave





me?