I have a tattered heart.
It's scarred upon my ribs.
And every time I take a breath,
The cuts open and it hurts.
The day my mother told me,
That she wish I wasn't born,
Was the day I took a blade,
And picked a spot upon my side.
To cut and scar a heart of pain
Always there, forever to remain.
The blade slipped over skin so clear,
Soon to be uglied by a bloody tear.
And every time I want to say,
A mean or ugly word,
I remember the words that I once heard.
I remember the words that burned my side.
And as I remember, the power of a word,
I hold my mean words back.
Because you never know.
When your words will give someone a tattered heart.
Or maybe a slashed wrist.
Words have power. Power carries pain.
Trust me I know. I have a heart of scars. And it's tattered to my ribs.
YOU ARE READING
Tattered Heart
PoetryMy self harm struggles. This isn't a very good poem as far as poems go. It's more of a warning. Words have such power. We have to be so careful how we them. Think before you speak. This is a true story.
