Blake 21h
I’m a needle,
And like a needle in a haystack,
I get lost and immobile.

Sometimes frightened and suffocated...
Mostly numb and oddly protected.

The worst part of me being buried,
Suffocated... immobilised..rendered useless...and just a utter black hole.

Is that everytime you bury your hands and search for me,
I prick and draw blood...
But you never stop.

You squeeze and uncover my hay,
All the while I cause you harm,
Cuts and scarring,
I make you wince and wail,
Swear and...and sometimes you cry...
But you never stop until I’m safely in your hold and cuddled out of trance.

You always say the same words,

“Don’t be sorry, all those of beauty are only one turn away from ugliness”

And I will always reply back,

“You need your eyes tested”

And even though my heart blossoms,
I pray for your deserve so much more than my daughter scars.
Sam Kelly 23h
I've put ink in my skin,
To simulate healing.
For the most part it works,
I regain some feeling.

And that's why I am
The girl that you see,
Through so many attempts
To get back to me.

I'll get ink over scars,
But they're one and the same;
They both stand to show
That I've overcome pain.

So I'll cover this body
With these works of art
To try and distract
From my marshmallow heart.
Geanna 1d
Have you ever missed something so much,
It actually starts to hurt?

I miss the beautiful artwork I would create
on my body, the old ones are still there
But I want to create new ones

I miss painting the lovely color of
Dark red on my light brown skin
I miss the after look,
To see how far i've gone
I see the old ones and admire them
While others see them with such sad eyes

They don't understand
I don't expect them to
If only I can do it again
And again
  And again
    And again

To never get tired of it
My lovely artwork
My lovely scars
       My lovely blades
Oh I miss you so
~ G.P.O
sayali 2d
I belong to
The gusty
Winds, that
Sweet nothings
To me,
                  I belong to
                  The red of
                  My roses
                  And the
                  Aroma they
I belong to
The soil, and
The way it
Nurtures and
Even accepts
The dead,
                    I belong to
                    The rain, which
                    Quenches the
                    Thirst of the
                     Parched soil,
I belong to
Him, who
Loves my
Soul, despite
Of the scars
Which sullied
It, and can kiss
Those scars
Back to whole.

// Belong

-Sayali Parkar
I don’t know where home is anymore
No cherry blossom trees
Or familiarity,
But a roof over my head
And a fold-out bed.
I’m not the same me
That I was at seventeen,
Scars and the sea
Kept her from me.
I never built any bridges
Just a rope ladder with frayed edges,
So my hands may be splintered
But I’ll make it back for winter.
See I don’t know enough of life,
To try and make this right.
Because this family, in reality,
Might be strangers to me.
And I don’t have the strength
To break again.
I don’t know where home is anymore.
Few scars on my face
showing the struggles
in the life's race.
Some show honour
while others disgrace.
But real wounds
are deep down the surface.

Few scars on my soul.
Showing the time when
I couldn't stand tall.
Some pierced through
and left inside a hole.
While some others were formed
when my life was out of control.

Many scars in my heart.
Each showing like
it was torn apart.
Seems like some
painful art.
Or like needle makes
its impressions on dart.
Life would have no meaning if it were devoid of scars because scars teach us lessons and give us experience that can't be learnt by any other way.
Run your hands,
On my scarred skin.

Tell me how it feels
To touch such imperfection.

Is it beautiful to you?
Or have I ruined myself.

This is who I am,
Take me, with my flaws.

The floors that creek,
You’ll hear it in me,
When you step all over me.
You can’t avoid it, even if you tried.
It’s in every crevice.

My broken soul,
My shattered heart.
My lost mind,
My used body.

It’s there, it can’t be fixed.
Leave me the way you found me.
You’ll destroy me as you go.
Eventually, I’ll crumble anyways.

stopdoopy Jun 13
being struck by lightning
what a sentiment
we think of you as this beautiful destructive force
and you are
but is the electrocution
worth it to taste
that sticky sweet acid
or what about the
searing of flesh in a shattered pattern
branching out
just like I am to you...
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