Battle Scars

chapter 38 - the poem

If you ask me how I'm doing,

I'll say I feel just fine,

But let me ask you a question,

How could I be fine,

Kissing the chapped lips of my dying boyfriend,

And seeing the red lines on my best friends arms multipy?

And the bruises my old foster father gave me,

They've disapeared long ago,

But the memories never will.

Watching tears roll down my brother's face,

As we were thrown out of another foster home,

And a few more when we were seperated.

The memories of my drunken father,

Driving with my beautiful mother,

The sharp pain of losing her,

And knowing I'll never get her back.

And I hate how my stomach turns in health class,

Remembering how my innocence  was stolen,

By my old foster brother long before I was ready.

I still get nervous walking out of the house without long sleeves,

Nothing to cover the marks on my body,

The ones I blamed on a non-existant cat,

Marks that were put there truely by a sharp kitchen knife.

None of that is helped at all,

When I stare into a mirror,

Disapointed in the girl staring back.

And on top of that,

I know that I'm not the only one,

Who's not pleased with my looks.

The judging eyes staring me down in the halls,

Making me feel self concious,

Uncomfortable in my own skin.

The thing that makes it all worse,

Is that I know I'm not the only one.

There's a million others who feel the way I do,

Unhappy with their reflection,

Unsatisfied with their weight,

Always feeling alone,

And constantly getting hurt.

The pain never really goes away,

Even on our happiest days,

There's still those thoughts in the back of our minds.

Thoughts that make us hate ourselves,

That make us beg our Lord to take it all away,

The thoughts that make us disapionted,

When He makes us stay.

So don't ask me if I'm okay,

I don't want to lie to you,

But that's what it'll come down to.

There's just so much pain in this world,

I'm not sure how you expect me to ignore it,

Especially when, not only me,

But the people I love as well, feel it everyday.

_________________________
Author's Note:

So this is the poem, I appologize, it's not that great. I really do suck at rhyming, but at the same time I like poetry and, believe it or not, I write it a lot. Poetry is a way of writing a story without turning it into a novel. Let me know what you guys think, and don't be affraid to tell me if it sucks.