'Why those scars?'
I don't desire them.
I don't like seeing my past,
anymore.
I'm sick of them.
It's like when I see them,
I revive those experiences.
It's somehow re-living them.
To feel, to smell, to hear
To say help.
But no one understands.
Only myself. I can.
And see those scars,
These permanent markers
That will no longer be gone.
Ever.
YOU ARE READING
My Own Kind Of Poetry
Poetrywords scrunched up in sentences that makes only sense to me. cause no one understands.
