Cicatrices of Emotion

Do you not think
I wish to be founded on logic,
Not to have to be emotionally driven,
Not to have to hold myself down with a heavy heart.

I wish I didn’t have to deal with my thoughts,
I wish I was not this insecure,
This so impulsively driven by what I feel,
By what I want and hope to eventually feel.

Do you not think I do not try?
When I bite my lip and turn away,
Holding back my acid tears,
That only leave scarification’s tattooed on my mind and soul.

Many have tried to run their fingers
Across this gruesome sight,
Only to pull away when the wounds
Reveal to be deeper and still raw.

Do you not believe me when I say?
If it was that easy for me
To turn away from this inbred nature,
Of feeling too much all the time, that I would.

If you think I enjoy this,
This constant torment to my
Created happiness you are bitterly
Misinformed of what it means to feel.

To be emotional,
To overthink every action,
Every word that oozes uncontrolled from my lips,
Before I can catch it to fall upon and infest everything I hold dear.

my hopes and dreams,
The people I care about,
The ones I desperately want to understand me,
To accept this mutated corpse decorated in satin skin.

How can you believe I didn’t warn you?
Did I not spew every corner of my thoughts?
Tell you that I am difficult,
Try so desperately to convince you to stay away.

Don’t run your finger across my scars,
You think you know the reasons for,
And you think I only protest because they’re beautiful,
But your want to touch them is just selfish.

Do you really believe I need fixing,
I never once asked you to stitch my wounds closed,
I’ve survived so long bleeding and in pain,
I still smile through it all don’t I.

I can piece together my own broken flesh,
But don’t you dare come into my necropolis,
And claimed that you saved me from my rotting crypt,
And renewed the decaying of my passion.

I clawed my way out ages ago,
The worms still eating freshly at me,
I fooled many amongst the living,
That I am a whole breathing carcass.

I hide it well under my sown together happiness,
The pieces of good I’ve held on to past its time,
And though my rotting flesh is a reminder,
That will never stop engulfing me in its noxious stench.

You don’t have to restore the 14 year old girl,
Whose heart was for the first time broken,
or the 18 year old girl who thought it would last forever,
And you don’t have to save the 21 year old corpse from herself.

I don’t even ask for you to find the pieces,
Of flesh and bone I’ve dropped on my journey,
To be seen as a approachable prison,
I am capable of creating my own renewed sanctuary.

I’ve never asked anything,
Only that if you do choose to touch the sensitive
Cicatrices of my soul and mind,
That you do not reopen them with your sharp nails.

Touch them gently and caress them,
With the warmth that is a logical mind,
Overcoming what it is that makes an emotional one
So unbecoming.

Allow your fingertips to embrace the jagged corners,
And thickened tissue where wounds were reopened,
And understand the path that it weaves through me,
What it means to me.

Do you not think
I wish to be founded on logic,
But it is not my breed of broken,
You can’t breed a tiger without stripes
And think you’ll get anything other than a lion.

No don’t you dare take away,
What’s made me this compassionate decay,
Don’t you dare make me promises,
Of no worms and no cold soil to stain my face,

Just don’t chase my trail of rotting
Unforgiving pungent emotion,
And say I did not warn you,
When the smell was too foul to stay.