Scars

I beg for someone to erase my scars
Broken spirit and lacerated heart
I sit inside my own head
Sometimes wishing I was dead
I force myself to smile each day
Constantly wishing the pain away
Trapped, bound to this world to stay
I find myself feeling my scars
Staring into the sky
wishing to be with the stars
I sit here and think to myself
If only I was somebody else

i go through
these changes
these changes
are happening
to me
both inner
and outer
i am changing
so dramatically
but where am i
in all these
relentless changes
where are they
taking me
where does that
leave me
where am I
even truly at now
if i can no longer
be fully human  
then what will i
soon enough
eventually become
what will i learn
through and from
all these continuous
ongoing transformations
what more can i feel
through all these
sores  scabs and scars
through this paper thin  
leathery skin
that seems to be
mine no more
what more can i see
through these tired
failing eyes
what trickery  
of confusion  
or grand self delusion
are my senses
playing on me
along with my
increasingly  
derailed mind
amid all this  
new wreckage
of my physical  
undoing and unknown  
physiological rot
is it possible to find
some greater sense  
of deeper meaning
of priceless  
inner wisdom
from out of
all of this fearful
desperate livings  
complex misalignment
in my fallen life
or some higher
conscious awareness
and fearless alertness
in my seeing
and embracing
the true nature  
of my still unfolding
necessary journey here
through the open hearted  
more awakened  
third eye  
fuller realization
of my own
transcendent beings
even greater
highest purpose here
through all the  
insufferable lessons
through all the
suffering  sores
scabs and scars
through whatever
unimaginably  
continued  
grievous inner
and outer wars  
may still yet come
i know i will endure
even on  
beyond it all
in whatever new form
i may take on
or transformationally
become
through the undying
eternal light
i know i
already  
am  
 

.  
At ten years old or probably age twelve,  
I started drawing on myself with blades,  
To watch intently as I'd break the skin  
To lick my lips as beads of rubies fell.  
 
But cutting fascinated me no end;  
I didn't even need my mother's kiss  
When she would tell me it would make it well,  
And then I'd go outside to ride my bike.  
 
It never crossed my mind the reasons why,  
Though none of it to do with death by snuff.  
I loved my family, did I love myself?  
I didn't want to die, I was too young.  
 
But cutting fascinated me no end;  
Though I did not know then it had a name,  
Or even if my father was to blame  
Because it was his razor blades I used.  
 
I knew I had to hide when I would cut,  
Not 'cause I thought it wrong or even bad.  
I loved the way it felt across my arms  
And didn't want to share with anyone.  
 
But cutting fascinated me no end;  
And when I'd try to stop it called to me.  
I'd also sneak the sheers to cut my hair  
In places where the deed would never show.  
 
Then came the day my mom walked in on me,  
The shower curtain on the floor in bits,  
Dad's toenail clippers clasped in my left hand.  
She asked me "Why?", I answered "I don't know."  
 
But cutting fascinated me no end;  
I have the scars where once six freckles were,  
As I attempted plastic surgery  
With double-edge and sewing thread on me.  
 
"Am I not pretty now?", the tomboy asks,  
With lovely eyebrows shaven to the quick.  
Her image of myself reflecting back  
From mirror of spattered rubies on the glass.
.