Thank you for everything.
For all the bruises and cuts,
For all the scars and broken bones.
And thank you for the compliments.
Where you always repeat that
I'm ugly,
A bitch,
A whore.
You raised me,
And you raised me.
You made me who I am.
So if I'm scarred and ugly,
You put me where I am.
So if I'm scarred and ugly,
This is where you put me.
So if I'm scarred and ugly,
This is your fault
Who I am.
YOU ARE READING
Poems of the Lost
PoetryThis will almost be like my Letters To Society, but this will be just poems. Don't read if you are going to hate, and don't judge if you don't feel. I may not have done some of these things mentioned but I have thought about them many times. ***Warn...