My Scars

My life has been a tornado, and in the end, I have been able to overcome so much, and whenever I look back, I cannot believe I am still here.

Please do not ask me nothing.

Just ignore me, and walk away.

Its my scars you see.

They run deep, within my soul.

Hidden in dark, empty chambers.

Do not ask, I plead.

Its my scars you see.

Some still are infected,

and others reek of death.

Abuse of various kinds,

hidden away.

My scars run deep,

within, and I hate 

having them,

but cannot get

rid of them.

So please, I beg,

do not ask,

just go, go away.

Reviews

[barleygirl]

This is a hard message to stomach. Usually I don’t enjoy any kind of writing that sounds so dire, so hopeless. But with your poem, despite how horrible this situation sounds, your writing is very strong & powerful. If only the person feeling this way (stated in poem) could understand the self-worth these words convey (artfully gut-wrenching description of feelings). I’m very familiar with the desire to be left alone. I’ve been a fierce loner all my 62 years. I hope the aloneness you write about is a healing place, not an act of being castigated away like punishment (((HUGS))) Fondly, Margie

[Kay]

"Some still are infected,/and others reek of death." I like that line. It goes beyond the fact that they're just faded scars, the pain is still alive and working its bitter way. Well written.