You don't see the scars on my wrists
You can only see my clenched fists
I haven't let but two more see
The scars I hide inside of me
Bloody marks and cruel bleeds
Hope is planted in these seeds
For you see I'm drawn to the dark
Because the worse off I am the better my mark
I see light best when the world is black
But in the light my vision I lack
My scars seen by none but they are there
I don't cut my flesh because my soul is bare
I carry a burden that all know
But only few see it though
Scars on my arms not visible there
But in my mind I share with a pair
My cuts are deep and none too few
But not on the surface so my new troubles be few.
Honestly, I'm envious of those who cut because that means that they are so in touch with their emotions it overwhelms them... even though this is the opposite of what you feel like when you do
Sometimes I feel like it, but I remind myself to keep it even closer to my heart.
YOU ARE READING
poems
Randompoems by me. Try not to judge too harshly some of these were made at 13-14 years old. The new-ish ones start at "scars inside" so, um... enjoy?
