Scars

I’ve put so many scars on my body

Donned any instrument my shaking hands could wrap themselves around and torn my skin to shreds.

I’ve drawn on myself with blood as my ink until I was no longer canvas but discarded cocktail napkin tossed out with the bottles.

And when my tissue paper skin was filled I gathered up my blades pushed them one by one down my throat.
Telling myself that they were to be the last things that passed my lips.

I let them tear at my insides, swirling around with the acids in my stomach, poking holes and letting it leach out and spread to my fingertips.

And they lodged themselves there stuck into my tender stomach where no amount throwing up could wrestle them free.

I let my insides bleed; let the ugly spread, so that I could see it leak out of me when I cut my skin and be convinced that I had become it, inside and out.

Now I cant seem to see anything else.
Not matter how much I stuff into my stomach I can still feel the blades graze against each other as I draw my breath.

Even when my scars heal, their pink tone pulses as a reminder of the ugly I’m holding inside, begging for me to let it free.

Because somehow I’ve convinced myself that I’m not even worth ugliness.

I’ve put so many scars on my body; I fail to see anything else.  

 

 

Reviews

[Talesha]

Ashley,this is graphic and powerful..I'm sorry for the protagonist.Life gives us pain,as intolerable as it seems,we cannot let pain and inferiority dominate us. Damaging the body internally and externally is no the way.But,whatever doesn't kill us makes us stronger. It's a well put together poem,I just wish these sentiments did not have to be felt. Take Care. Keep writing.