Artists minds
Have fragile souls
The delicate way
We pen our words
Shows our vulnerability

We bare our scars
Hopes and dreams
To heal the pain
Of our wounded hearts

We must create
For our own understanding
Self discovery
To process the turmoil
And calm our fears and anxiety

Tattooing our thoughts
On our readers minds
Letting each person who reads
Carry a piece of the pain with them
Until there is none left
I looked for a synonym
To scar
And I saw:
A Defect
A disfigurement
A flaw

Because apparently
Our Scars
Are not
Or strength

But I argue
That scars
Tell our story

They show our strength
Our beauty
Appear as victories
In battles
That only you
Know you’re fighting

In every way
Wounds turned white
And plastered
To our skin

A constant reminder
Of where we once were
And where we will
Never be again
Every battle
Lost with myself
Is etched on my forearm
Every tear
That has rolled down my cheek
Has a space there too
They tell my story
They show my past
And my present
But were not done yet
And I can't
a poem to my mother who wants me to get plastic surgery to remove my scars

"You don't care. You don't feel anything."

“Keep on lying,” your heart said.

There is no good in denying,
nor anything bad in it.

Will you choose to keep it to yourself?
Don't you want any help?

You make people believe everything is okay.
That you are okay.
Keep on lying if that makes you feel better.

The pain slowly kills you.
And no one, not even you,
know how to stop it.

Now, you are not okay.
But it's okay.

Time heal wounds, not scars;
Deeply carved in the core of your heart.

You may break down it tears.
Cry, dear.
For it will save you from hurting.

One day, you'll say, 'I AM OKAY.'
And realize, This time you mean it.

Maybe not now, but someday.
You will understand.
You will be understood.

K.J. Bueza | 18/03/2018
The drugs numb the pain
For a brief moment
I forget that I’m insane

Fists bleeding from self destruction
I cry out to anything listening out there
Yearning for an abduction

Eyes bleeding
Wrist screaming

My soul is tired of living
Slowly becoming unforgiving

She held my heart in her hand
Dropped it on the floor
Made me feel like a one night stand

She hissed so many lies into my ear
I thought it was love I felt
But it was fear

Fear of getting hurt
Fear of being left in the dirt

My heart would ache at night
I would call for you
And you’d be out of sight

The demons comforted me
The told me to sell my soul
If I wanted to be made whole

You were an angel craving chaos
I was a demon seeking peace

But in the end
You become the demon.

A demon dressed in white
Lurking in the night.

I know I’ve been MIA but Toronto is here.
K 5d
I can't stop thinking of your arms
How they wrapped around me that night
Braille of a story spelled out across them
I run my fingers across the raised surface of scarred skin
There's so many
It's nostalgic
I felt your breathing deepen

This world has been cruel to you
With arms safe in my palms

It's sort of tragically beautiful
Two souls threatening to break at any moment
Lean on one another
We know what it's like to be broken

I'll be your pillow
I'll be your razor

Cut into me
And take what you need
Rachael Judd Mar 13
I used to hide my scars, forever ashamed by the marks covering my skin. From my wrists to my thighs, fading little white lines. Starring at them now like my skin is a piece of paper waiting for an author to mark me with his words. I don’t hide my scars anymore, for they have created a place to write poetry.
BW Mar 13
Don't you dare
manipulate me
or I swear I will fuck you up so much
You will end up killing yourself

Would you want to see me, wrist slit in a tub?

I would not, but I would be indifferent.
How is it my fault? It only shows you
value death more than life.
Come on pick up the phone.
Stop being silly ok, I didn't want you to actually do that.
Look, stop being stupid, it's nothing.
Pick up. B?
Are you ok? I am sorry, I didn't actually mean it like that.
B? Come on, stop being a silly kitten.I love you.
Pick up the phone, please!!
B are you alright? Do you want me to come down? Please, talk.

They found her, they told me. Wrist slit in a tub.
Her lips were crimson, her hair like a black dahlia.
Her body bathing in blood,
Bright red as the girl I first met, who fell in love,
the same girl I pushed down
the cliff of death never to come back.
it has been months since the last time i ran a razor against my skin
i try to keep my days busy
hoping that i won’t turn back
i look at things different now
i scan people for scars and want to know about them
i love scars because they show where you have been
pain doesn’t phase me anymore
getting tattoos is enjoyable
not painful
sharp objects like cooking knives
or if my friend pulls out a pocket knife
bring me back
it is scary and tempting
but i choose not to go back
my scars are there and that brings comfort to me
the day that they fade will be a scary one
for i won’t feel at ease anymore with nothing there
i don’t like change
having my wrist marked up for so long became normal
i hope i have enough strength for that day
when it is cold
the scars are more noticiable
i secretly don’t mind the cold
it facinates me to see my skin change colors to temperature
i have learned that the color red is beautiful
red is the color of strength
that color came out of me
but the majority stayed inside of me
it used to be a bad thing
the color red
but i look at it differently now
i never thought i would be writing this poem
about “the days after”
i’m smiling right now because i did it
i got through the hardest mountain in my whole life
i see things differently now
-that day will come for you too
Xander Holden Mar 13
red drips slowly down an arm
elbow to wrist, silver scars
mutilating a once bright
life, and new additions
insist on existence:
gone is the fight
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