looking past the pain,
looking past the turmoil,
not even willing
to hear the story
of how they came to be;
their shallow glares
recoiling at the sight.
all they see
are the numerous spots
of discolored brown
that mar my skin,
only seeing
what they wish to see.
they view my marks
as blemishes or imperfections.
but why do they view them
on a negative note?
when I see them,
I see the memories
they show,
the stories
they tell.
Is there anything wrong with my scars?
YOU ARE READING
Hidden Thoughts
PoetryJust a bunch of little poems that I've written. Hope you like them, and are able to be comforted by some of them, or atleast be able to relate. And just something that I want to let you know is that I tend to write when I am in low spirits, it was j...
