Please forgive my ugliness inside,
wounds that seep like nothing to hide.
multitudes of scars and wide open sores,
but who's counting? I ain't keeping scores.

I even get stares from strangers you see,
even if they are all inside of me.
Others sense my ugly side,
But still I hold these wounds with pride. 

My heart is made of sharp shards of glass,
shattered from lovers from an unfortunate past.
Superglue won't do the trick,
the adhesive for some reason won't magically stick.

The sharp shard keep poking reopening the brain,
I'm now so use to the pain
So don't get the impression to feel sorry for me,
what happened is just part of history.