Condemned, guilty.
The wound bled,
the scar remained.
Ugly, different.
Bad words crept through the vent,
Heard, listened.
Indifference faked,
Picking.
The scab flaked,
blood seeped through cracks.
Salty drops fell upon it.
Acid.
Burning.
A glance up,
Away.
The birds call,
Butterflies swept.
Deep breaths,
Filtered emotions,
Deaf to the old words.
A scab.
It's shape,
you add to it.
A dancing pen.
Butterfly.
The marks fade.
Scar.
Beautiful, unique.
Praise.
The scar a shape only seen by one.
They smile.
Natural beauty,
Both scar and smile.
YOU ARE READING
Mirrors
PoetryShort poems I've made. They were made at different points in time. They are a bit of a reflection. I hope you like them.
