These helpless scars that haunt my flesh, remind me of thin-skinned days.
When words and thoughts cut far deeper than any blade.
Each cut, each scratch, each bite mark, leaving it’s own vicious story behind.
Fathoming the disarray isn’t so easy right now, with a hurricane causing havoc in my mind.
Dysphoria screams down the empty, corrupt pathways of my brain.
My eyes have glazed over, I’m forever mistaken for a china doll. Skin so delicate, so porcelain.
My skin is like a tiger’s, bold and bright.
Each cut, each scratch, each bite mark, showing that I fought the fight.
So let me show you this, listen to me roar.
I fell victim to my mind once, but not anymore.
Scars come and go like trains to a station.
But at somepoint they stop, so please be patient.
The past won’t ever change, so why wistfully wish.
You could be a newly growing wild flower that does nothing but flourish.
If Kiwi can cope, so can you.