Mine – Poem by Beth Wood

You ask me my history I hand you my book of scars.

This skin grows so tight

Not all prisons bear bars

Childhood held weapons, drugs, and pain

No cookies, no toys, straight shot to the vain

Reprieve would call around, send the devision to the door

Bruises shown often, judge, then a new home decor

Adolescent held hours in sleep or candle lit razors

Tears upon  tears then fits and rages

I hate because I hate

The breath that escapes me

I’ll take lacerations and suicide please

Institutions to follow

Dear God so many years

Walls built for insanities

Constructed by fears

Volatile and desperate

Lead to many four point restraints

Injections, medication changes

And the side effects that remain

Life after life I have attempted to build

Using this faulty blueprint

Foundation landfill

Of lovers I’ve taken many

Loved maybe once or twice

Roads dreamed of paving given over to vice

I love you don’t leave me

Shit why would you stay

I’m going to push

And push

And shove you away

You asked me my history I hand you my book of scars

Memories and thoughts of who one thinks they are

Poetry of pieces collected over time

Now

It’s your turn I’ve told you mine 

For More from Beth Wood, CLICK HERE

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