Scarred
By butch
Everyday I look at myself, I see the scars from labor; from work on cars and trucks, the hot exhaust searing my resolve to finish this job I detest and machining, the hot pieces of metal flying out to wake me out of my daydreams; The scars of youth, the stiches from play and endless skinned knees and bloody elbows bruises, too many to count, reminds me of those hot dirty days in summer I wished would never end And then there are the scars on my psyche, some call it the soul; wishes and hopes sometimes dashed against the unrelenting shadow of reality to always remind me of who I am; The scars of the heart are the worst of all that things sometimes aren't what we want them to be, at times taking a course too harsh; love requires two people and the other may not see you in the light, or know of the feelings so tender and delicate and, blindly go past you and the hurt is just as real as the pain from my skin and I think to myself that I am better for this; but, still remember in the night........ Written February 25th, 2002 © on Feb 25 2002 12:00 PM PST 10 • 0
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"Everyday I look at myself,..."