"scarred" poems
I been scarred and battered.
My hopes the wind done scattered.
Snow has friz me,
Sun has baked me,
Looks like between 'em they done
Tried to make me
Stop laughin', stop lovin', stop livin'--
But I don't care!
I'm still here!
115.5k
I'm in love with a man
I know not to love,
his heart will never be free.
I waste my days
a slave to his ways-
knowing he will never love me.
He is the secret
I can never reveal,
the best lover I ever have known.
I've nothing to give
but my body.....it's his-
fresh dirt for him to bury his bone.
Hopelessly hooked
on him like a drug,
wanting him day and night.
I play his ***** game
I have no shame-
taking it all, knuckles white.
Dead is the conscience
I knew so well,
and morals.....they ran far away.
Clarity now blurry
in a love-drunk slurry-
the 'good me' has gone astray.
To lay with him
is playing with fire,
the flames...they burn me alive.
Leaving me marred
hurting and scarred-
the pain on which I thrive.
A fool for punishment
I beg for more,
even if all I am worthy of is ****
Loving him breaks me
it overtakes me-
but I'm not willing to quit.
I die a little more
with each passing day,
until again, I get lost in those eyes....
All doubts go away
so for now I'll stay-
living this life of lies.
Mar 4, 2017
Mar 4, 2017 at 1:54 AM UTC
Great tragedy suffered,
Impossible circumstances conquered,
The warrior walks upon the field flanked path.
The wanderer's armor tells a tale,
Battle scarred and partially rent asunder,
A face of stoicism that hides the haggardness underneath,
Peeking out beneath the mask of a hardened soldier.
The clouds clap ahead, preceded by flashes of light brightly illuminating the world,
Accompanied shortly after by the rainfall.
A trickle becomes a downpour,
The battered individual trudging along as the road becomes a bog of mud and slop,
The message firmly planted within their mind.
Coming upon the dark outline of the castle ahead the warrior picks up pace,
Reflecting upon what would happen to those that the Warrior helped.
The pace is now fueled by a different kind of urgency.
The rain is cold upon the face's of those that it falls on,
The torn edges of metal digging in at places,
Some already wounded and tender,
As the final hilltop between them is crested.
The gates are closed,
And this loyal soldier is for the moment shut out,
A fist is raised,
The declaration of allegiance given,
An angry detailing of the warriors achievements and adventures shouted,
And a challenge of one's path,
Building in anger and fury as the dam finally breaks and gushes forth,
Threatening to shatter the gate and doors to splinters and twisted metal.
A long ago promised gift to be rewarded,
For all the things endured,
Things that could be considered so cruel,
The storm picks up in force until it's akin to that of a hurricane,
As if brought forth by the warrior's grief and pain finally being released,
For the first and only time.
These things ringing out despite the storms roaring wind,
Gathering force,
Perhaps in affirmation of the warrior's words.
After a pause the gate begins to lift,
It's metal screeching,
The doors groaning as they begin to swing outward, and the battered soldier is bathed in light,
Taking the weight from the warrior's shoulders,
As the threshold is finally crossed.
May 12, 2018
May 12, 2018 at 9:22 PM UTC
Where are your wings now?
How can they save you now?
Left alone, barely able to stand on your own two feet.
You walk a thousand miles down a dirt road
finding hunger along the way.
You drink a gallon of water for the first time
so everything in the world stops and leaves you breathless.
You can't believe the feeling of pain and dwell in sorrow
over something, you can't control.
You set the world on fire but never knew how to use a match.
Now you're a nomad dreaming of meeting someone who will help you put out the flames
but instead, everyone glares at you while walking around in their ashes.
And if you knew what you know now nothing would have changed,
and everything would be in its place.
You wish to undo what has been done
but you have a heavy soul
surrounded by mountains and oceans.
So let the sun die down
and let the morning pour in hope of anew to come.
You used to be a beautiful angel
but now your grace has been ripped out.
Now you're a human
with ***** feet,
a hard soul,
broken wings,
and scarred and cut skin
you wish to just be left behind.
Let the wind take you and lead you
across the winding roads,
into the hands, you solely search for to help and to hold.
The only hands that can make you feel whole and holy,
even without a halo.
Oct 17, 2013
Oct 17, 2013 at 7:11 PM UTC
#*When all of worldly beauty's lost
When form and face have borne the cost
Of life's sojourn upon this earth
A greater glory then springs forth
When vanity is cast aside
With long-dashed dreams and fallen pride
At last a better hope I see
One anchored in eternity
When no one gives a second glance
Or offers promise of romance
I know the One whose love is true
Who looks beyond what most men do
When wit and charm have fled from thought
And company's no longer sought
There's still One friend who longs to hear
My every word, desire and fear
When awkwardness is more the rule
Than competence and being cool
His words I hear so gently spoken,
"Come, poor in spirit and all who are broken."
When those around me criticize
With disapproval in their eyes
He spreads His arms with full embrace
And wears acceptance on His face
When kindred spirit can't be found
And understanding's wayward bound
The One who knows me best will be
Thinking precious thoughts toward me
When foot is slipping, mind astray
From trying to fix things my own way
He rescues me with hourly grace
And sets me in a spacious place
When all my naught attempts at fame
Lie crushed beneath a weight of shame
I seek the fame of Him instead
Who calls my name and lifts my head
When youth and vigor fade away
And triumph seems an ancient day
My strength can rest in One who brings
Fresh power to soar on eagle's wings
When my last breath some day I take
Death's shadowed crossing, hence, to make
Upon Christ's nail-scarred feet I'll fall
To kiss that One who is my ALL*#
Dec 31, 2015
Dec 31, 2015 at 5:56 PM UTC
Glitter and gold is the man in the chair
with rings on his fingers
and the hardened harsh stare
blinded by ugliness
wrists chained down by no use
a man with much money
he spends on abuse
the term known as trafficking
familiar I’m sure
he’s never been one for
doing what’s pure
so he lays down his money
flings out his cash
says he’ll pay the full price
for the girl with the mask
just to touch her to feel her
pet her cold body with his
run clammy hands up her scarred legs
clamp her in his ashen fist
little boys too he will willingly harm
because trafficking to him is a sport
no need for alarm
Just cows in the system
of making ends meat.
The poor solemn dancer
the poor saddened soul
the poor battered spirit
angry that they’ve been sold
with ***** feet and scabby legs
they work to feed the king
the end from him they can only beg
And freedom will never ring.
May 15, 2014
May 15, 2014 at 4:47 PM UTC
Another night without you,
morning come and you're gone.
Where are you,
in a world filled with hatred and war.
I hope you're somewhere safe,
somewhere much more inviting.
Children with their fathers,
hand in hand,
laughing until they can laugh no more.
And I sit alone,
quietly watching them with the fear
that I will never see my daddy again.
I've cried all my tears,
I haven't laughed for the whole year.
There's not a day I don't think about you,
or a day I don't miss you.
Maybe, someday,
we will meet again.
In an afterlife
with so much more joy than this one.
But I hope you'll recognize the broken girl I've become,
with scarred wrists and teared eyes.
I'm not the happy child I was when you left,
I'm something much darker.
It's not a happy Father's Day for the fatherless.
Jun 16, 2013
Jun 16, 2013 at 3:36 PM UTC
Most
people connect
the freckles on their skin
to create constellations of stars
I try to connect the acne scars only to find that nobody wants to see those lines of insecurities that travel down my back, and over my shoulders
My shoulders that feel like they carry the weight of the world, are
strong, are scarred, are swimming-built, are still beautiful.
despite what those who do not know me may think.
Oct 5, 2014
Oct 5, 2014 at 9:19 PM UTC
She carries her burdens across the back of a child.
Rightfully hers to bear but her mind has gone wild.
Scarred grows his mind afraid of life so uncertain.
But she couldn't switch the soul of the carrier of her burden.
Apr 2, 2017
Apr 2, 2017 at 1:36 AM UTC
Late night texts
Sleepy eyes
Small smiles
Butterflies
Stolen moments
Held inside
Beating heart
Stupefied
~
Left alone
Tear filled eyes
Chapped lips
Scarred thighs
Empty promises
Cast aside
Broken heart
Terrified
~j.l.
Jan 9, 2019
Jan 9, 2019 at 11:59 PM UTC
Endless stains of blood
On white t-shirts
On nights that scatter blue trees over black earth
Alight by shooting stars
The mother tells her child
Unwilling to unlock the truth
The truth those stars
Don't grant your wishes
They grab them
With scarred scratching hands.
Alight,
The damp stitches in the soil
Cemetery symmetrical to hospital
Those shooting stars circling
Like a vulture
Speeds towards dead carcasses
Still, the murdering star will not cease
To break bones
That have already broken
To take lives
That have already been taken
To burn
What is already charred
Today
smells like burnt muddied skin
feels like gnawing on your own fingers for feast
sounds like tired, howling machines
spurring and sputtering, never-ending their onwards trek
Swallowing distances and with it, nameless faces
countless places
Today the earthquakes of death
Don't make the land shake anymore
For it has learned to cope
With the desolate cemeteries filled with mute bones
Today burns like gasoline
Looks like intestines decorating destroyed doorways
Today it rains curdled crimson
Tell me shooting star
If the child liked jam on his toast
Did he snore?
Did he like math? Or english?
Shooting star doesn't know and neither the bombs.
As bodies fall from trees
like rotten plums.
The world was born in blood
And has not ceased to suckle its wounds
Endless blood thirst, Endless war
But not endless skin to bleed.
Oct 15, 2017
Oct 15, 2017 at 2:41 AM UTC
she chooses to remain beautiful,
although life has scarred her so horrifically inside...
...a phenomenal woman she is ❤
Jan 10, 2016
Jan 10, 2016 at 4:56 PM UTC
Red balloons litter the floor,
Out numbering the pure ones before,
What once was white now
Discoloured
Violated
Shrouded
Float from view
Each a moment of life
As the balloons once white
Now no more,
For all is stained red
Crimson,
Droplets,
Dried
Upon white like a tear,
It slides down marking
Before greeting the floor,
Expelled air, ruptured by the
Violence,
Anger,
Death
Still lingers, an after image
Of the life that was here before,
Red balloons float leaving their imprint
Splatter effect upon floor & wall
Cold eyes stare seeing both
White
&
Red
Balloons
Clinging around this fallen life,
Where white once was now all
That floats is the stench of death
Red balloons huddle around,
Each carrying a moment with them
When life became death &
White was scarred by crimson,
Life is static, still, for death now floats above the floor
Nov 6, 2014
Nov 6, 2014 at 10:27 PM UTC
Lost Love
He remembers that day
many sad years ago
it was sunny out,
but soon a storm raged.
He returned home early
from work,
eager
to rest and nurse a cold.
Eager
to see his gorgeous wife
fix him a delicious soup
and give loving care,
a remedy not.
He caught a surprise.
Was it then a hallucination?
To see her ex's car
in front of their house,
fanning the flames in his heart?
Or to imagine the house shaking,
or to hear love noises howling
from the rafters of contempt,
as her fireplace warmed tempest.
He sure hoped then... it had been a misfire
it wasn't.
He slowly opened the front door,
walking decrepit and sad,
like he was in hospice care.
He could see the final script
playing out,
more so the tragic ending
the trail of clothes,
her ex-boyfriend's scent,
calamity,
and approaching closer
the devil speaking louder.
He opened the bedroom door
to their parts caught in honey jars
and scarlet red on his tainted wife
over bed sheets of shame.
Their eyes catch,
both flush, and tearful,
as breathing stopped,
his melancholy eyes asking why?
Why?
What about the future lily pods,
our family, house, kids
... and you sell out.
What about being fresh
out of college with our dreams,
passion and honor...us.
What about the bonds,
pinky swears, pricking of blood
marital vows.
Her eyes had no answers.
She cried, loudest
as her ex-boyfriend bolted
not before passing the mill.
He closed her door for good
that mournful day,
dismissing darkness,
opening his wrath for her
in his mind, yet
what words or light can be exchanged?
Uprooted and lost, he walked
scarred over and over
by her promise and lost love.
That was thirty years ago
and he still walks with her
ghosts, and it still pains.
LR-5/4/17
May 4, 2017
May 4, 2017 at 11:31 PM UTC
You asked me to put on some makeup.
Well, dear.
I would need too much makeup,
to cover my scowls,
and this ugly thing I call
a face.
There would never be enough makeup
to cover up my scarred heart
and attempt to make it look whole and pretty.
There would never be enough makeup
to cover my sarcastic and strange humor,
make myself sound smart, pretty, cute.
There would never be enough makeup
to cover my soul,
make it seem pure,
innocent - the way you want me to be...
I've been exposed for too long,
too many burns, and scars race across me,
everywhere,
too noticeable, too many
for me to ever use makeup.
Makeup will never make me look pretty.
It will disfigure all that I have,
take away the stories that are etched onto me,
it will cover what defines
me.
Dec 6, 2014
Dec 6, 2014 at 6:48 PM UTC
A musical trance seance under control by the hand of a shadow
A "Du hast" to a "Loco" To a "beautiful people"
A fraction of symphony, Sent by the gods of rock
Spiderweb rooms an corridor covered with the entrance to darkness set in place with danger light's, Strobe lights, an a fog machine set on auto
A haunted feel to a shack left cold an abandoned.
Equipped with superior beings and extended solo's of 6 string guitar's along with drum's and distorted bass guitar, setting the rhythm for our soul's,Feeding threw 4 large kickers.
This shadow was me
Venom
Decorated in crow face paint, Along with black attire to match my attitude
People came and went and came again
Supporting my and there craving for sublime sound
But one, the one, my goddess, my angel of death came to my dwelling, she came with a message
To indulge in my love
But also to give me a message of misery
To break me free of this chaotic world i was fixed in, with a bite to my fingertip the purified pressure was on
She wore the same colors as I
Only more dragged inline's
More pain, More beauty than she could see
I stared into her crystal corroded bloodshot eyes
I seen deep within herself
I saw pain, I saw hate for her fire, I saw hate from others
I had seen everything and nothing
I arose from my slumber to meet her in the darkness or mothers sleep
To give mother a great vision, a great dream and it was this
My angel of death, Meeting face to face, Eye to misery, Cure to disease, Beauty to ugly.
The words rolled off her tongue like the greatest embrace to a lover
Her words were sweet and seductive
Sprinkled with tears of a suicidal mind and a scarred wrist.
Then in a perfect moment are perfect tender love met with crying eyes and black lipstick.
Within that moment i ingested her misery
I took it and gave her what she deserved
Beauty
After the release of this lover's choice
We met vision and from there i seen the truth
I could never release her from this insanity
Only pamper or even embrace it
This timeless motion of misery will never stop ticking in my heart
Not till it expires!
Oct 14, 2014
Oct 14, 2014 at 10:33 AM UTC
855 miles between you and me.
But yet I feel your pain as if we were hand in hand.
I've given you the strength to keep on living
And you've given me the love I lack.
Baby girl, I worry about you.
Your tears are the rain outside my window
And your blood runs in my veins.
The emotions bottled up in your scarred body
Explode in my own heart as well.
Four more years, my lovely friend.
I expect to meet you there.
Please don't give up.
Sep 3, 2011
Sep 3, 2011 at 8:21 PM UTC
True gardeners cannot bear a glove
Between the sure touch and the tender root,
Must let their hands grow knotted as they move
With a rough sensitivity about
Under the earth, between the rock and shoot,
Never to bruise or wound the hidden fruit.
And so I watched my mother's hands grow scarred,
She who could heal the wounded plant or friend
With the same vulnerable yet rigorous love;
I minded once to see her beauty gnarled,
But now her truth is given me to live,
As I learn for myself we must be hard
To move among the tender with an open hand,
And to stay sensitive up to the end
Pay with some toughness for a gentle world.
10.9k
What is my motherland?
Is it the dust that ravages my lungs
Or the bones of my ancestors
Humming softly the old and forgotten
What is my motherland?
Is it where I was born?
A piece of land, a group of people?
Or is it the place where
It's mothers are graded
In layers
Where some wombs only give birth
To sub humans
Where some wombs are scarred
Born from the ashes of a thousand dreams burnt down
I'm a survivor
Of all they could throw at you
Of all their insults
The predicament
My mother's womb that withstood all it could
And some more
They tell me this is my land
That it is my mother
The birth giver and sustainer of life
I spit on their faces
My motherland never was this piece of land
Or the people who **** on its soul
Each and every day
My people lived in a different world
On this piece of land where we were worse than animals to you
Where is my motherland?
I have none
Robbed of it since my birth
Where is my motherland?
But in the hearts of all who are like me
Set in stone
Yet defying gravity
Jan 6, 2016
Jan 6, 2016 at 5:26 PM UTC
His hands are scarred,
Face is a mess,
Too long walking
Through the wilderness.
The bears are hungry
Wolves they howl,
The Levy's breaking
All will
Drowns.
Washed away by savage currents
Watching fallen suns go
Down.
Mar 16, 2015
Mar 16, 2015 at 11:54 AM UTC
Oh disappointment dad, how you haven't changed.
You are still guttless and horribly deranged.
Faces have aged and we are all wise.
Disappointment dad, you cram yourself with empty lies.
Oh disappointment dad, you claim to work so hard.
Forgetting the world, you say you have becomed scarred.
But the ones who are scarred are the ones cleaning your mess.
Selfish and blind, your words of woe fill us with protest.
Oh disappointment dad, can't you listen to the world.
Your life is ever so more becoming twirled
I can leave through the door at any moment, and wouldn't care.
Oh disappointment, why don't you show me you still have a pair.
Excuses will only get you so far disappointment dad,
And truthfully less I see you, it makes me glad
Maybe one day you won't forget about me,
Maybe one day you'll chnage and be free.
However realism is my gifted teacher
And it has taught me about people like you; the preacher.
I can accept you'll always be singleminded
But Disappointment Dad; I refuse become blinded.
Jun 7, 2013
Jun 7, 2013 at 1:00 PM UTC
Once it was garbage, refuse, trash.
A jumble of foul-smelling detritus hauled to the curb
And removed by sinewy men
Contributing a harder day's work
Than anyone else in the city.
Our energy now removes its entropy.
Sorted and classified into coloured bins,
We add order to our rejected matter.
Specialized trucks arrive to collect
The date-synchronized bins
Emptying them into functionally compatible mechanisms.
Most desolate is the black box of paper and cardboard.
Brochures and flyers, old magazines and letters.
Annual reports and cereal boxes.
Once these were enameled with crafted sentences,
Painstakingly typed, edited and debated,
On the monitors of copywriters.
Now they are just millions of words printed on flattened fibre substrates,
Jumbled into the bruised and scarred black box,
Entering into the recycling stream.
The nouns and adjectives,
Prepositions and gerunds,
All jumble together.
Fragments of precisely-crafted sentences and paragraphs
Are gradually broken, shredded and pulped.
Incomplete thoughts, broken phrases
Like those of a rejected stranger
In an lonely, unknown country.
Then words without context.
Then just disparate letters
Are all that remain.
Their M ea N inG
G r a Du all y
is re mov
e d
.
Aug 2, 2013
Aug 2, 2013 at 10:26 AM UTC
I've been cut
and scarred
many times before
my desire
toward fire
had got me burnt
but I never knew
a flame could scar
until you
May 29, 2014
May 29, 2014 at 8:24 AM UTC
*Isn't it scary
how powerful you are?
Your ability to
smile with
a broken heart,
scarred past,
and a shredded soul.
Yet, you have
the audacity to
look down
and say
you're not
strong enough.*
Feb 13, 2014
Feb 13, 2014 at 8:14 AM UTC