She was wearing a scarf,
On a hot summer day,
Her neck was covered,
Keeping the heat away,
She never learned how to cope,
With the pain she caused herself,
So by covering all the scars,
She never had to explain to someone else,
Why she did what she did,
How she could look down that path,
When she found out that was nothing left,
For her to keep going with her life.
She wasn't wearing a scarf,
On a cold winter night,
And as the people passed by,
She ignored their staring eyes,
Over the long periode of two whole years,
The acceptance came her way,
That's when she learned,
There was no reason to hide that she stayed.
YOU ARE READING
Dust of the untold
PoetryYet another poem collection, Ready to be free, Words written down by a stranger, Some scars you just got to see. A collection of hearts, A bucket of sorrow, A box of pain and my deepest thoughts. These are untold stories, From a closed soul, and a c...
