Slowly, I lift off the perfect skin I'm wearing,
so you get to see my real skin, underneath.
It is a pretty shade, soft as silk, delicate.
Yet it bears the invisible scars of mine.
Can you, of all people, see it?
Can you see the deep, dark wounds?
Though the pain is deeper, and darker.
Can you feel it when you touch my skin?
Can you feel my misery?
My fears?
Can you even notice my tears?
Can you see?
Because I'm quite a sight.
Can you feel?
All the feelings that I try so hard to hide?
YOU ARE READING
The Ink Spilling From My Pen ✔
Poetry* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * The ink that spilled out of my pen formed these poetry. * ** * * * * * * * * * * ** ** * * ** * * ** * ** ** *** ** * * ** * * ** A random poetry collection that spill...
