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Those Scars.I often ask myself if those scars are truly mine and sometimes I wonder why?
Why am I doing this to myself? Why am I punishing myself ?
Then,I just remember what happened before.I remember what went wrong.
I look at myself in the mirror,trying to smile but all I see is fakeness.
I look at the scars covering my tights and I ask myself how.
How could I become that monster? Where's the real me? Where am I?
Am I gone? Have I ever existed before the monster took my place? How would I know.
I see the look on their face as they catch a glimpse of my scars.
They see my weakness. They see me as a weak little girl. But I've got something to say.
Those scars are a proof that I survived a war. I survived a war with myself.
I was battling my head,I was battling what was in there.And sometimes,I wonder.
I wonder how life would be if I haven't done this.And I wonder what would you do?
What would you do if you we're in my shoes? Because you'd feel what I feel.
You'd see what I see. You'd hear what my
to crumble up
the remnant pieces
of my love for you
and throw them in the trash
but I'm such a bad shot.
ViolinI remember the day
you told me violins
were strung with cat gut
and that is why
you hated music
(who says that to a child?)
I followed you
all that summer.
I watched you
grow away from mother -
your whiskey held better conversations
and all she did was cry.
We'd sit cross-legged on the porch
and count the horseflies
settling on our lunch.
You would drown tadpoles
in a bucket
surprised they could not swim
and I would dream
of cherry popsicles.
And when night would gather
on the sidewalk
I'd hold my breath
until a star appeared.
Don't bother making wishes
you'd tell me -
stars are dead weight in heaven
and God has cloth ears.
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