The scars I have
The heart I wear on my sleeve
All the old boys
Left heir own mark on me
I take my pick,
Pick him quick
That night he comes by
And we get down to the slick
He peels off my clothes
Ripe fruits rid of ugly skin
Dew on his lips trail
Mixing on mine with gin
My mind hazed
Joints still burning,
We’re blazed
Memories, are they real?
That morning I wake up
He’s nowhere to be found
My razor takes his place
Then I dropp to the ground
White walls splattered
Blood painted upon
His name engraved forever
Because now he can’t be gone
My memories nonexistent
My scars bear all of the truth
My razor persistent
Beauty of those truths
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
I have known alot of girls in my life who felt the way you have felt. I just want you to know things do get better. Ive read some of your poems you posted tonight and I want to say that they have alot of real raw emotion. You have a talent for writing, keep using poetry as an outlet for your pain and anger.