scar
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Close your pretty eyes,
Let your mind be clear,
give it many tries,
until your vicinity disappears.
Can you feel your sunshine soul?
Can you hear your heart of gold?
Can you perceive your passion for life,
Ink
It leaves a black stain
Where the needle grazed my skin
Marking a moment of impulse and rebellion
When my body wanted to hurt
Scars
Still present
From when
My old self
Died
And I began
To hide
And stay away
Small scars
On my legs
From when
Writing
Couldn't keep
In some places, scars are
The most goregous, glimmering things you've ever seen.
Intricate designs telling of forgotten pains
And forged of blood.
They speak to the strength of their owner.
Big hands,
Soft like
Clouds that
Quickly turned
Into violent
Fists scarred
With the
Old memories
Of us.
Two little cubs roaming through the plains,
Run run the two went along.
So young, and careless.
They roamed until they arrived at an elephant cemetery.
365 Days of Pain
An eighteenth birthday,
A happy day for some,
A painful day for me
That day I became a bonde,
There are galaxies behind your eyes
With more than a million stars.
But why the constellations of your skies
Look exactly like my scars?
The words of people have this cruel effect of getting under our skin,
applied on the outside they are allowed to soak through.
With the power to both heal and hurt they race through our blood,
i do not have scars,
nor am I scarred
or marked by such
i am the scar
the tree's root
a tissue formed in
passed over scenes
the wound's product
As the population grows,
Every human being becomes less important,
Of less concern to the person next to them.
One day we will have found a solution to running out of resources and created more,
bruises come from many things
from getting hit with a ball
to a friendly punch that pangs
I love you like a fire
burning with desire
A love so strong
that I've felt so long
A love so deep
that I can't even sleep
A love so real
that I can't help but feel
A green-skinned apple in your eye,
An autumn sunset, a sweet pink sky,
Who, with that mouthful of stars,
Breathes summer on your meanest scars,
And, with those long-fingered hands
Always busy, lets you stand:
