My tissue got a scar over all my weary skin,
my tears got not tissues to clear my sin,
bearing all those scars, I've been with none but with myself in war,
I killed myself over and over, those scars now is a shining surface,
I try to hide my face,
Because sometimes I feel disgrace.
I wish I could go back and replace.

I wish to heal, not get burned again

I wish to not re-open my wounds,

But rather let old scars fade

I don’t want to be unhappy

I have the privilege of knowing where my happy place is

Alas, there I cannot go, here I must reside

Tried to wash the scars embedded on me
Submerged the voices that left me haunted
Drowned the visions from the tall red oak tree
Remembering when you asked to “flaunt it”

I tried to scream, but choked on nonsense words
Your malevolent laughs replays in my mind
No evidence, but me and the blue birds
How hard is it for one to just be kind?

You left me with pain, you left me to cry
I can never get my innocence back
Yet, I still love you, but I don’t know why
I may not remember all that happened,
But my body does, my body remembers it all

I want to be near you sometimes. As much as I love you
I wish that I could love you better, that he could love you better,
That you could love you better.
Its not about being bitter,
though I am, and it is
A taste of chicory coffee dark and thick as car oil,
Soiled.
And you can’t spit it out, the taste lingers around,
And just like coffee, I’m addicted, taking a new sip every morning,
Remembering his face, when he looked at you with a curled lip and recalling
Your face pretending not to know.
And I resented you both.
I took an oath,
Never to blindly bind myself brainless and loveless
Now I’m unwound,  
Trying desperately to learn how to knit
Because everything is in tatters.
-Tori

When I tell you of my story
Will you lean in or turn away
When I share the cause of my hurt
Will you weep or find an escape

Can I trust you with my story
Can I rely on you to stay
Please tell me now not later
It's late, too late for games

If you stay to share my story
They'll be laughter with the tears
But they come with me as a package
With the wounds under repair