These are scabs
as if toothpicks bore themselves
into your welcoming arms and thighs.
These are marks
from when you struggled away
when I handcuffed you, dragged you away.
These are the scars
I gave you when you refused
to kiss me good night every night.
These are wounds
but still aren’t enough
to pay the price for my dissatisfied heart.
These are your dried tears
as I saw you unhappy
when I kept you for myself.
This is all because of my love
for you, only you
when the best of me couldn’t be enough.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem