ScarredA Poem by NateThe horseshoe on my inner thigh,
The rip across my shoulder hurts more at 37 than it did at 7.
Scarred
Oatmeal I will never eat, I'm even haunted by its scent,
Someone came and asked me,
Scarred
I had a full prescription,
But the blessing of death elluded me,
Scarred
Months confined inside a room,
Life is rough for a foster child,
... (And even though I'm grown now) ...
At night I wake up weeping,
From the pain and from the trauma,
The caterpillar coccooned,
Is scarred
By: Nathaniel A. Booker, Sr. © Nathaniel Booker © 2009 Nate |
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Added on August 17, 2009 AuthorNateDundalk, MDAboutI have been writing since I was about 10. I began writing to express the agony inside of me as I was a victim of child abuse and neglect. No one seemed to truly understand why I was the way I was an.. more..Writing
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