So I've decided to make this a book of poems, please don't expect much.
So here's a poem, ya!
~o0o~
You look at them like they hurt,
I promise they don't I say smiling.
Scars don't hurt I tell you,
How could they?
Scars don't ache or bleed,
Sting or show tissue.
I admit they bruise and harden the flesh,
They itch and irritate,
They bleach and shed complexion.
Your right though,
They do hurt.
But only sometimes,
And I can choose when they pang.
All I have to do is look at them,
And ponder how they'll never fade.
YOU ARE READING
Laugh with a Draft
PoetryI wrote a poem, I sometimes do that. __ But in finality and purity, these words mean so much- yet I'm blinded by their insincerity. All this is, is a dishonest fold of revelation, self-accusation, and starvation. And so much more, more to be rimmed...
