Not all cuts heal.
Not all bruises fade.
Not all broken bones
are put back into place.
I still feel the cracks
that split my bones in pieces.
I still see the purple
that lies beneath my skin,
When I look at where my wounds
once pierced my flesh
I still see the scars they left behind.
I still feel the blade,
running cross my arm.
And I still feel how good it felt,
how good it felt to harm.
YOU ARE READING
Overthinking.
PoesíaThis is a book comprised of many kinds of poetry. I talk about topics that are kind of dark, kind of scary, but also very real.
