the scars on my arms and legs tell a story,
the story of a lost litte girl,
of the razors she spun and swirled,
a mix of blood and anger,
blacking out,
seeing on what i want to see,
the pain in my heart,
the scars on my face,
are from me being a discrace,
when she hits,
just makes it easier to cut,
the razor falls from my grip,
my mind starts to slipp,
do i deserve thse scars,
should i have to cut the pain way,
do everything she hates,
just to get her to stop calling me names?
should i have been born?
i ask these questions all the time,
but i never get an answer thats mine,
these scars tell a story,
of what time,
has done to me.
very deep and intense. really intense. it flows very very good and the emotion pours onto the paper very well too.
an experience which is written in a poem..beautifully penned..grace
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
let not live with scars....... you have poured your emotions and that too in a very very fantastic form.........I loved this piece.........