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Tom 2d
Last night I opened the door to a fear I do not know,
a stranger from the street.
Its overwhelming silhouette now casting over my feet.

It greeted me like a neighbour,
tightly gripping at my hand,
a warmth not becoming of the spectre I did not understand.

For my life I've carried this scar.
A symbol of my mother's mercy,
A blessing of a life for which others have been thirsty.

I quietly parade it in defiance,
that slender crescent moon,
rising from my skin so as not to be forgotten.

Now I stand at the doorway of my conscience
and warily make acquaintance,
with the helpless fear that long feasted on my mother's patience.
Yuzuko 4d
I gaze at you every night
as you seem to be my light
You shine in the sky
and refelct in my eyes
your the prefect moon
and I hope to be with you soon
Brighter than the stars
reminds me others have scars
Your the wonder of my heart
Your a peice of art
when I die
I hope that I will rise
and be with you
weather your white or blue
I still look above
as you shine your love
The moon shine for all....
Scars within whisper tales only your soul can hear,
Silent stories hidden deep, beyond the world's ear.
In shadows they softly speak, of pain and grace,
A secret song of healing, in your quiet space
W-ounded she was scarred ,she still feels the pain
O-h the pain she couldnt bear one that drove her insane
U-nderestimating the damage,Now she weeps for her bane
N-ever had she imagined ,the sorrows that would stain
D-istorting images that would strain
S-ucked her brain made her sane
T-he sounds torment,twisting her veins
H-arsh realities those which never wane
A-nd even still ,she cries in vain
T-he past still whispers like a weeping swain
N-ever object ,never complain
E-teched and carved but she couldnt explain
V-ulnerable wound ;forever remains
E-nraged her soul which drenched in  rains
R-avens flew;she stared them through ;the window's pane
H-earing the echoes,forgotten arcanes
E-agerness betrayed her she was never fain
A-che still lingers so she drugged herself *******
L-unacy drove her mad and now she was dead and lain
A-nger burnt her alive but she still couldnt complain
M--adness made her demonic and now she wears her chains
I'-ntricated with restrictions she holds herself abstain
S-eculuded in her solace a fear she still contains
E-mpathy she had lost, one she never had to gain
R-efrained the sentiments inside just so she would retain
Y-et she still sobs; behind that old chayne
T-he anguish she lives with while being still and plain
H-ear this message dear i beseech and constrain
A-gony strips and rips her but the clearity she maintains
T-he porcelien smile ;one for which she trains
N-ot letting it show; the misery she obtains
E-legance she tries to mask; beyond her domains
V-engeance bleeds inside ;mascarred and slain
E-rupts from her bones until it sprains
R-an and ran forever; and now she holds her cane
E-nd her pain forever let her rest and lain
N-ested in some peace a peace that she disdains
D-ie and demise she sings with the cranes
S-epulchural wounds and agonies For always would be her deign
                   _tsuki no ume~
#*Acrostic:
"Wounds that never heal"
"A Misery that never ends"
#*Monorhyme
Irelyn Thorne Jul 24
I'm so dramatic
Is what they all say
As they walk around
Day to day

The crunch of my bones
Does it bring you joy?
Constant manipulation
Treating me like a toy

These problems, they seep
Through every one of my scars
Nothing can help
Not while I'm behind bars

The shadows from ages
Creeping into my face
And my mask falling down
From shattered grace

Oh, these grave mistakes
I know all too well
But you've never cared
Not which I can tell

This pain, it's so weighted
The bubbles stop, I'm going to drown  
But you call me so spoiled
If you catch a frown

Every thought building up
Emotions that try to hide
Is this what it feels like
To be dying inside?

I'm so dramatic
Is what they all say
But they should try
Being me for a day
Of course I'd never open up enough for others to actually obtain this option of me, but I always wonder what they would think if I did
Bekah Halle Jul 16
The train
Sashayed and swayed,
Hugging the corners
As it rounded the tracks
That led us back
To the city —
These tracks
Are everywhere,
Across Australia,
And around the world —
These tracks
Mirror the tracks on my face;
                 scars left from stitches
Weaving my wounds together —
The 100+ knitting my skin together after the surgeons scooped out the brain AVM,
Across the bridge of my nose
Originating from a foul swipe
Of a tennis swing.
The crows’ feet from
Forever smiling eyes
Even when they were crying.
These tracks are traces
Of a life lived;
Westerners pay the “big bucks” to hide them,
Mine…
Are forever present and I don't deny them,
Viktoriia Jul 16
how far you've come.
do you remember every sunset
since the arrival of the sun
or do you crave the blessed dark
now more than ever?
the depth of misery's embrace,
the calm it brings, the warmth it takes,
like being stripped of every part of being you.
would you still welcome the collapse
or wait for sunlight to break through?
this grave's too shallow.
do you still wait to be transformed
or are you finally brave enough
to be in charge of your own form?
before the old survival instinct
can dig its claws into your throat,
remember, scars are there to guide you,
not to condemn, but to remind you
how far you've come.
Matt Jul 14
It was only a door,
a frame of wood and steel,
hinges that whispered secrets
every time it swung shut.

But one night, it broke —
splintered by words sharper than fists,
its edges warped by the weight
of slamming, shouting, silence.

I patched it with care,
sandpaper and nails,
a veneer too smooth to betray
the fault lines beneath.

Yet the wind remembers.
It presses through cracks too thin to see,
a cold draft that lingers in rooms
I’ve since repainted.

Even now, when the house is quiet,
I flinch at creaks,
of shadows moving too fast.
The door stands still,
but I am the one that warps
Ellie Jul 11
TW : references to triggering topics below

My art is not considered normal
It’s made of fine lines
The lines form rows
They tell a story
Of whom I once was
During the tears
Those tears not only lasted for year but also still last
My fine lined art has recently come to a end
Or more of a rest
Because it may start again
My fine lined art is not art
But a way to cope
A way to breathe
Yet my skin bleeds whenever I draw those lines
The fine lines are considered ugly
To the eyes of society
they will leave scars forever
But my scars are not ugly they tell a story
Of my fine lined art.
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