These scar-infested wrists, they’re, markers, or, milestones, if you will, of my life. They showed my path, of coming to where I currently am, and, without bleeding, without the pains, the scars, I couldn’t become, who I currently am.
These scar-infested wrists, the scars, they no longer hurt, and, I’d not wanted, to erase them from my forearms, because, erasing them all felt like, a betrayal of my self, like I’m, trying to, disown parts of who I was once, long, long ago. So, I’d let them, continue, to “live” on my wrists here!
not my photo…
These scar-infested wrists, the scars became like parasites that found their steady places on my body, and, once they’d, found a way to stay, it was, completely, IMPOSSIBLE, to get them all, OUT of my life again. These scar-infested wrists, as I looked down on them (like God on Earth and the people???), I’d whispered to each and every one of them: you’re, okay now………
These scar-infested wrists, they don’t bother me none, they were, markings, passages of my life, and, if I erased these passages of my own life, then, wouldn’t that be me, DISOWNING parts of my self from before? And, I will, NEVER do that!!!
not my photo…
