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Lost Dec 2018
my body is scarred
thick pink and white
bumpy raised tissue
tiptoes in lines
along my hip
and through my thigh

I am marked
my patchwork skin
has cigarette hickeys
where I pressed the cherry in
I’ve been kissed by fire
long, slow, and passionate

these marks of residual pain
are proof that I’ve lived
I wear my heart on my sleeve
and my hurt on my skin
MeanAileen Mar 2017
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 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.
You can't always help who you fall in love with...
r Mar 7
There’s a kind of grief
in a long leaf pine
with a scar cut deep
in its bark from lightning
that shines beneath
a winter’s moonlight
all alone out there
down by the water
like a man in a wheelchair
grieving for a daughter
at the end of the dock
hard and gray
old as the rocks
and cold **** waves
that break in time
along this god forsaken
piece of coastline.
Rob Rutledge Mar 2015
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.
Dani Oct 2018
A dream once brought to me
Beautiful and sweet
Tender touches of love
Coexisting, together two bodies high above
Happiness and beauty wrapped around
We were tangle in it entirely bound
A dream once brought to me
Instead turned dark, how can this be?

A nightmare suddenly broke a tremendous light
A face above me now evil, causing much fright
Holding down my fight
Screams muffled by your hand so tight
Pressed against me without tender touches of light

Happiness and beauty no longer in sight
Instead held captive by chains of despair
I stare over my own body tortured, oh what fright
As demons grew around me laughing at my fear
Hard and unsettling with an ice cold heart
You pressed your hot skin to mine
It burned and welted, forever scarred
The nightmares end is lost without time

Shadows cast, screams stopped
Outside myself, scream inside, fight within
Nothing more to do, I laid still and watched
Done and gone, I think not
Replay upon replay, night after night
I dream of only what nightmares taught
And watch myself fight

Never winning over such despair
So sleep is my new found fear
While I never experienced such a terror that this. I know some who have. I have experienced when someone you trust breaks that trust by betraying and hurting you after consent of the initial act.
Alyssa Underwood Dec 2015
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
"Therefore we do not lose heart. Though outwardly we are wasting away, yet inwardly we are being renewed day by day. For our light and momentary troubles are achieving for us an eternal glory that far outweighs them all. So we fix our eyes not on what is seen, but on what is unseen. For what is seen is temporary,
but what is unseen is eternal."
2 Corinthians 4:16-18

~~~

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gtzAciGlgKE&spfreload=5
Micheal Jan 10
To get home, I take the trudge through this warzone every day.
Broken bottles line the sidewalk.
Well people have to cope somehow.
Sunlight never shines through the blinds because the windows are boarded.

This isn’t the type of place you go sightseeing, but I’ll be your tourguide for today.
First stop is the corner store; here you’ll find the toothless men who leave the broken bottles.
I’m sure whatever story they’re telling is great.
Truly sad it is that you nor I will ever be able to decipher their slurred tales.

To your right you’ll see a young girl.
Excuse her attire; that’s just typical uniform in her line of work.
“What kind of product is she selling?” you may wonder.
She isn’t selling the product; she is the product.
Sad as it may be, that’s one of the more prominent parts of the workforce around here.
If her mother were sober, maybe she wouldn’t have needed employment.

As we continue our walk, be sure to keep straight.
Most who detour into the allies don’t come back.
If only my friend had known that when he moved here.
He was always a gambler, but that night he lost money and a lot more.

You may also be wondering why those walking past us have such vacant eyes.
Around here we don’t get much sleep.
The sounds of bullets ricocheting often keeps us awake.
If not that, for me it’s the screams of lady next door.
Her husband is a giant but far from a gentle one.

I must bid you adieu now; you’d be best not to stay past sundown.
I pray this tour hasn’t left you scarred.
Amaris Aug 2018
I can't remember exactly what you look like
But the memories of what you did remain
The scars you gave me may have faded
But I still remember the pain

I can't give words to clear the chaos
Facts from emotions are hard to define
I live in fear that you'll be in my life again
You're out of sight but not out of mind

People tell me that time heals most anything
So give it time, they insist, and it'll be okay
I've been waiting but it's been nearly three years
I just want all these thoughts to go away
Lydia Sep 2018
I still find myself hurting over things that have been done to me in the past
things that have been said or directly wronged me to the point of heavy sobs and torrential downpours of tears
and everyone always said to not let it get to me because these people aren't my real friends, I am better than them by not retaliating or they are just miserable, so they have to take their hate for themselves out on others
but
how do I really let go, if I'm left with an emotional scar of how I was treated and how some people I care about didn't defend me like I needed?
now I treat people I meet for the first time differently because I'm skeptical of everyone now
I only feel like they do not have good intentions and are only capable of being hateful and judging me
or hurting me
I was so beaten down to the point that I wondered why I was here
why I wasn't good enough
why I even tried everyday
that kind of mental brutality can really take a toll on a person
Most of all, I am hurt that from now on or for a very long time,
I don't see the good in people anymore
I used to believe people were truly good,
we just all make mistakes
but now I just think this world has turned into a pretty awful place
Cindra Carr Jun 2011
The blood loses its grip as the dreams of fire flow closer.
Alain’s face fills the gap my heart created with her dying breath.
I’ve lost hope more often than I’ve kept count.
Each moment slipped her away.
Every stranger’s touch faded the fresh memory of her breath upon my cheek.

Her heart was mine to the last moment.
Her blood pumped away wetting the field of battle.
I dreaded each day I woke knowing she was gone.
Time would not heal my wound.
It scarred and built numb spots of deadness.
It made it harder to feel.

I will see her.
I will touch her face in wonderment.
I will kiss the corners of her smile.
May the Mother help me.
Alain is waiting.
And I am looking for her.

cc2011
Daisy Marrow Oct 2013
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.
Castiel
Supernatural
2013
Hisham Alshaikh Jul 2018
I will be honest like every time or at least most of the time
I do not even know where to start or begin

I rather to say I do not know where this journey would end
The graveyard or the warm heaven’s arms

I still do not know if I want to fight and hold my weapon high
I am still wounded from some of previous fights

I am currently kneeling with my sword exhausted and tired
On my knees scarred because of battles only god knows

I’ve a feeling that I want to stand up with my sword raised up high
Turning obstacles and differences into triumphs

What a strange feeling I get when we are even a little apart
A feeling that motivates me to pick this novel fight

Not sure if I’m trying to build a one-sided bridge between hearts
A bridge with destination of nothing but a pool of fire

Everyday I wish for hints, clues or whatever helps
I just need to know that this is not just a vacation’s play, cause I'll pay

There will be no hurt feelings every journey has it own lessons
Things that need to be known in the beginning of every such journey
Left Foot Poet Mar 2017
She, my cutter,
my body, her cutting,
with tongue and finger nail,
any handy human implement,
she sculpts me to
her eye's configuring delight

she, grabs my wrist,
and my face
by her hands embraced,
unblemished once
now becomes scarred tissued,
no guise, no lies, no bearded mask,
no disguise -
all forsaken
hidden hardened skin,
speckled red/white translucent,
she kisses with adoration her
heart designed
objet d'art

no better blade than she,
with every cut,
transformed, she becomes
my devotee,
I, her escapee,
I am her, she is me,
inseparable, my every command,
she obeys*
for our love cuts both ways
Jordan Miller Sep 2018
My razer goes swift and sharp
As it runs across my arm i feel a bit of pain
It the only thing i can feel somedays
the blood comes out crimson red
Then the wounds scar and i start again
For all those people who would tell me to stop self harm because " its dangerous" I say so should we not cook because its dangerous and we can get burned And when people says its bad because its not normal, your saying that im bad because im different. isint that what the whits said to the blacks and the nazis to the jews.
haley Oct 2017
The trail of a wedding dress
The flower girl holds with tiny fingers
Clutches

We too hold the endless stain of blood
On white t-shirts
On nights that scatter blue trees over black heart
Alight by shooting stars
The mother tells her child
Unwilling to unlock the truth

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
It smells like not your favorite food for dinner
It smells like having to do your math homework
It smells like burning books
It smells like gnawing on your own skin for feast
It sounds like tired, howling machines
Spurring and sputtering, never-ending their onwards trek

Swallowing distances and with it, nameless faces
Nameless places
For nothing has gone without the occulent scratching hands taking hold

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 doors
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
Sana Feb 2015
Won't you dare
Step in the storm?
Won't you dare
Cup the hand of fate in yours?

Lead on the way
Amidst corridors of blazing sands
Won't you let the friction carve?
Your hands, your sight and heart?

Brushing against your face,
Peeling off your gentle fate
My friend; won't you dare?
And step in the roaring lair?

For ashes and dust
Is this greyish world
So burn the flame
And light in fumes

Hear the tapping of your feet
And feel your sole melt away
On strange wooden lands
Sprinkled with blazing sand

Catch the pebbles
Struck at you
Let it burden till you grieve,
Or build the castle of your dream

Set ablaze, set ablaze
Set yourself ablaze;
Let yourself combust and scarred
And become the blazing star
r Apr 2017
Tonight watching the waves
break over Dead Woman's
Shoals quite a ways away
through the windows
of the Riverview
where I once thought the bar
was the bottom of a boat
scarred deep from the drink
on the rocks and sand bars
until I realized it was a coffin
shellacked black
as the hazards of marriage
between a waterman
and a lonely woman
black as the soft leather
of the stool climbed
and kicked away
black as the water
the night
you found her there
still swinging
from the rope
of the nets
she repaired
for her man
while he was away
chasing the catch
deep in the darkness
of the black waves.
Mara W Kayh Jan 21
My life is a virtual battlefield
complete with hidden traps,
layered atop cowardly assaults

between highly guarded spans of peace,
Inside my house
chairs and walls
are coarsely blown to bits
by verbal bombs,
and stark fists of shrapnel.

Behind that simple smile,
semblance of solid love
so easily shaken,
lies a ripened mine field

I tread on tiptoes
yet it erupts under
calloused feet unprovoked,
blasting glory to grey
as sacred sanctuary
falls to scarred terrain.

Spears lodged inside ribs
I peel myself from the ground,
shake off soot,
wait for dust to settle
before I march forward, again.

yes I lose the battles
But I will win this war.
Reminded me of the song by Pat Benatar, "love is a battlefield"
But again, hate seeps in as well.
Jade Oct 2018
Heart skips
like a warped record,
trembles over scarred vinyl
until "I love you"
tastes incomplete:

(I)                love                 you

I                  (love)               you

I                   love                (you).

My Swan Song mewls off key,
cascades across the
marred terrain of my soul
in a thick lacquer of tears.
Notes flatline
in unison with my
waning pulse
(waning, like the face
of the moon on the night
of my eighteenth birthday).

My breath
resigns to static,
dances in slow decrescendos--
sputters its way
towards nothingness,
slipping rapidly from
my consciousness until
I no longer hold
any recollection of the music
(or the poetry).
Don't be a stranger--check out my blog!

jadefbartlett.wixsite.com/tickledpurple

(P.S. Use a computer to ensure an optimal reading experience)
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