Donations are essential to keep Write Out Loud going    

Scars

My scars have piled up like leaves on Autumn grass.

My knees are a testament to lake pollution

and MRSA.

My hands tell the story of a rambuncious youth

yearning for adventure.

My thighs are a roadmap of mental illness

and a fondness for razor blades.

My face bears the craters from a begone allergy

My mouth is the magnum opus of a poorly trained dog,

whom I miss everyday.

My arm is a work of art,

scars carved slowly

methodically

to reproduce a dead racist's tentacle monster.

My scars define me.

They exist as proof that I,

in fact,

lived. 

scarslovecraftcthulhuPollutionself harmillnessself

◄ Anarcho-Haiku

A Poem About Hatred ►

Comments

No comments posted yet.

If you wish to post a comment you must login.

This site uses cookies. By continuing to browse, you are agreeing to our use of cookies.

Find out more Hide this message