tw: s/h
lines trace my body
these lines can twist and turn
they run into each other
some are thicker or thinner than others
but lines are lines
old but at times they feel new
tender, as if they had appeared only hours earlier
flesh ripped open carelessly
bursting with fear, pain, anger, sadness
but in time the red became duller
and red became brown
lighter than my skin in some places
darker than others
i dont want my lines anymore
they make me feel ugly, mutilated
but how can a creator abandon its creation like that?
is this not what i wanted in the moments i drew these lines with silver in my skin?
did i not wish for someone
anyone
to see my struggle?
YOU ARE READING
poetry by an idiot
Poetrytrigger warnings for some stuff in here, these are my thoughts. yes i see a therapist, i am healthy and okay. writing poems is fun and i wanted to share them a little
