Where'd You Get That Scar?

Most have been abused,
Mostly by ourselves.
Sometimes, though,
It's others
Who lead us to our hell.
At times,
They may even think it the best,
But we hurt who we love,
Enhancing the stress.
I'm sorry that everyone goes through this,
In very different ways.
That's why we must
Find what bliss
We can on any day.

"Lil Bitch"

I got bit
On the lip
By a lil bitch
Named Sheba...
The lil shitzu
Was really a demon in disguise!
No lie, tis the truth,
Got the proof
Right on my top lip
For everyone to see,
And I believe
The lil bitch
Had it in
For me
At the beginning!...

Written by, Tara A....

When I was eight years old
I was walking to church with
a friend of mine, when a very
tall black man running from
the cops ran into me and
threw me face first into a
pine tree
cutting up my face very
badly was not even enough
skin there to stitch it could
see through my upper lip
and jaw.
Now i have a small scar on
my upper lip from that night

damn :/

I slept,
Dreaming I was underwater without a breath
I exhaled and three goldfish swam out saving me from
watery death

I woke
Staring into the shutting eyes of the morning sky.
Wondering if on any of the stars going by,
My three goldfish swimming I would see.

My teeth have broken in the sweet song of Life
My skin has been cut by Love's sharp knife
My eyes are worn out by the Sun's Warm light

My Scars are many, but my tears are few
Someday my soul may open and then you may view
Three fish shaped scars  shiny and new.

This Time

I started cutting that day. I was sixteen.
I’d read about the concept somewhere.
I bought a pack of razors at the store,
wondered if the female cashier knew.

I was in love. He dressed like Edward
Scissorhands. He’d been abandoned
as a baby in an apartment with two other
infants and they were found eating soap.

I would just sit behind him on the concrete
while he strummed “Bela Lugosi’s Dead.”
Holding onto him, I knew it was my purpose,
that I would be happy in his distance, his cruelty forever.

He would never be able to love,
and my mom would stop loving me, too,
because I loved him. And I found out
something about myself, that beauty

was somehow too beautiful for me, it made
me sob and clench my teeth in seething pain,
it ate away at me, emanated from my body
in ethereal tentacles of overwhelming sorrow.

Some years later I would write a 400-page novel
for him, and somehow in the book it ended up
that his character would cut my character’s
face when they made love.

We never made love. I remember his kisses.
The one time I had him in my mouth.
This morning was the residual of another dream of him,
too real, as if I were sixteen all over again.

I have thick welts on my arms today.
Two faint scars on my cheeks.
I remember the seeming release the cutting gave.
It seemed worth it then.

I remember the heartwrenching torment of cassette
mix tapes. Morissey and Robert Smith somehow
knowing my insides, precise words and haunted voices
torturing me with my own yearning.

So please please please
Let me, let me, let me
Let me get what I want
This time

See tha scar upon my face
Tainting me in every place
See that scar makes it so hard to smile
Turn around and run a mile
See tha scar it's part of me
A part I wish you couldn't see
See that scar makes me feel so out of place
That wretched thing upon my face

My gnarled fingers
Covered in loose flesh
Chicken skin flesh
Discolored filthy tan
Gray skin
Beautiful.

I could let
My burn scars define me
I could wallow
In my disfigured finger misery
But I survived.
Not everyone did.
These are my fingers.
They remind me I survived.
I was spared.
They remind me
Life
Happens.
And.
Ends.

Every day
Is not a promise
Not a commitment
But only an opportunity
A slight chance
And sometimes you have to grab those chances
With gnarled fingers
And just be happy
You survived.

Many thanks to any and all who voted in this competition.

Salud