Best Scar Poems
There is a scar
On my face
Small, steadfastly placed
One only notices if they are this close
To kissing my soul
On my cheek
Below the eyes and sideways
Beside the bubble-gum sweet
Mouth, vivacious story teller
like an upside down
sharp angled half moon
The endless emotions of my sky
So attractively rough
It attacks the delicate features of my face
Allowing my streetwise beautiful
Personality
To shine through, I don’t hide thetruth
It’s as plain as the scar on my face
Life isn’t ugly, you make it that way
Some days I wish it wasn’t there
But I always
Appreciate it’s presence
I won’t ever forget
When I received
The blow to my vanity
From a fight over youthful yearnings
Inside this
Is my learning processes
Scars hold history
I shall carry with me
Through tough times
Soft and easy, peaceful
To remind me
Of me
Here lies a grave,
a conglomerate headstone
without a name.
Weeds and cobwebs
wrapped tight around the heartless edge.
Caretaker whips around in a rusty John Deere,
Waking the dead and stirring mud.
Pretending he's a NASCAR stud.
He takes his lunch beneath a tree,
eating Twinkies with green fingertips...
For his love he'll steal a wreath,
and place it gently on her grave.
That bears a scar called, 'long forgotten"
A grave he's coined "no name".
Emotions flare
While hope whispers
Do not give in to anger
Fight the need
To say things you will regret
Words you can’t take back
Pain fashioned by fury
Somehow leave a lasting scar
©1212131510
Soundly you sleep, your insides at ease. Beside
you, I surge an uncharted storm of fearsome break for
it thunder-threatens my own sun’s velocity melt. Your
breathing is even and bears no concern, no fear or
resentment squeaks to rust your dream’s churn. All my
wishes wish it would; I want it to rob you, break your peace
to pieces, rough up all your pleases and scatter your calm.
Yesterday morn, the same ever alarm was greeted by our dual
yawns. I poured your coffee, you jellied my toast, we teased
about who loved the most versus who knotted our bed covers
tossed. I heard the garage jerk and bolt, the squeal of reverse
being forced and grinned that life so ordinary was actually a
fulfilling choice.
Later I chanced upon blemish, a day scar drama erasers can’t
touch, time can’t discard or blow into bits a kind wind might
take far. Even hours gone, with eyes closed, I cannot look away.
My insides toss green, then turn blue-black. My heart is cramped
and crumpled uneven, and my doubt is sure love-innocent trust
will never come back.
Our longtime love is not mere try or habit or lie, I know you want
me at your side, so why not a plan more focused to better secret
your sordid? Why carelessly litter dramatic change that my feet
must step around or in? You sleep unaware of my awake seeped
with betrayal:
Passionately you kissed another, gifted eye smiles on the street
to each other, while I was framed in the window of our
local and favorite grocer.
Are you happy with your work doctor?
Look at me when I talk to you.
I looked in the mirror you know.
Mirrors don't lie.
What you see is what you get.
Like a miserable computer.
Is this the best you can do?
Look at my scar. Red?
Livid red I should say.
The best aesthetic surgeon in the world!
He slowly rises his eyes to meet mine.
Calmly he reminds me what has taken place.
The surgery is always risky.
The damage done, he grasps
Desperately to say more words,
Any word to vanquish the villainous
hate hurled at him.
I can see how he wills me
To look into his eyes, begging
silently for grace.
I feel the purple bulge of blood
Beat frantic under my pale skin.
Denial fighting reality
My volcanic pain slips one tear.
He pleads me to see his afflictions,
Hides putrid human failings
That are not borne for this spleen
of contempt.
I fume, screaming inside my
words back.
Look at me! Look at my scar!
Mirrors don't lie.
Then he comes out with one
fantastic idea:
"I'll pay for everything.
All you need
Is a dainty cheek tattoo!"
For my first collaboration to be with Victor,
is an honour and experience
I will cherish forever.
To Victor,
I am especially grateful and appreciate your
generosity, time, kindness and sage tutorials.
You are a true gentleman, extraordinary Poet
and a beautiful friend.
Thank youxx
04-09-2017
SCAR
On her right forearm she carries a scar,
Symbol of the comet and the fiery stars.
Found at the crossroads, a scar on the map,
Didn’t realize that her need was a trap.
Mindlessly she picks…she knows how to pick ’em.
When memory takes over does she ever think of him?
Remember the nights aglow with their fire
Caught up in the rapture, driven by desire.
Now she's burning bridges to keep herself warm
Taking full advantage of her nubile form
To get from men what she thinks she needs
And, despite what you’ve heard, she needs,
She bleeds from the scar that she feverishly picks…
Look long if you can she’ll be gone in a quick.
So, when she scratches her scar does she think of him?
Feel a pain in her heart or laugh with a grin?
The scar that burns in her soul like a star…
When words attack they, too, can leave a scar.
The bed offers cold
where you used to lie
a chill that lingers
when dawn paints the sky.
Your abandoned chair
across from mine
is a constant reproach
and an unwelcome sign
of a love that died.
On outings with friends
I feel their pity
though I wear my best mask
and try to be witty.
The places I visit
are different and yet
something always reminds me
won’t let me forget
the love that died.
Time has its way with all wounds
I've discovered
granting healing to some
letting Death cure the others.
And with every new wound
the scar tissue spreads,
fibrous and nerveless,
‘til sensation is dead.
And it’s hard to say
if I fear this or not
maybe this ether
is what I have sought
all along.
______________________
sorrow is my scar that I keep hidden deep within my heart from the world
it never heals but will bleed forevermore when I think of you mother dear
and I do . . we lived in a fine house with a garden full of beautiful flowers
we took care of them together drinking tea in the shade and we would talk
I loved our country drives and how we always got lost (but discovered lots)
I miss your laughter like church bells ringing although you battled illness
mom you were the most courageous person I have or will ever know
as a child you held me close whispering I love you every single day
as a teenager and young woman you forgave me everything I did
as an adult you were my anchor . . . the reason I am this me
and when you lay sick and dying that was my hand holding
and since that day you left me I float like a drifting cloud
I would like to go back to your garden, mother dear
and lay among your scented flowers
I would gather all of them up . . .
oh, wait at Heaven's gate
I will come one day
or is that a fairy
tale, I tell
myself
____________________
June 1, 2018
Poetry/Narrative/sorrow is my scar
Copyright Protected, ID 18-1028-163-01
All Rights Reserved. Written Under Pseudonym.
He received a scar as a present from her,
A present when he gave her his heart,
A present wrapped in a lovely red ribbon,
That would never be pulled apart,
And this scar it grew from a small damaged book,
It grew to envelop his mind,
It grew and devoured all that he had,
Leaving him emotionally blind,
Till now, day by day, the ache of this scar,
It fuels his path to nowhere,
It fuels every small romantic brush stroke,
And makes his emotions aware,
Of protecting his heart, his itch, his love,
Keeping it safe from the rain,
Mending this scar of emotional hurt,
Protecting his heart from the pain.
Would the world forgive?
Destruction of twin towers
echoes of cries and pain
all the nations in prayer
Ghosts and ashes the remainings
Its hard to forget,yet lets try to forgive
(Don't hate them ,hate their deed) Charma
Mine is but a sad tale
Cut off and rendered pale
Taken down for better things
But important , indeed I am
Few are we who stand still
Fewer are we who hope to stand
And fewest of all,
I am.
Extinct and gone,
My fate shall not be
To face destruction, I shall rise
Armed with experience, I will not falter.
And so, Alive ! I long to be.
My resolve was solid:
An unmoving stone,
Covered in cold scars
From years of being alone.
I was never attached.
I kept my distance.
But you... drew me in
Despite my resistance.
Fascination, curiosity,
Grew to admiration.
Then gave rise to delusion:
My ultimate aberration.
I forced myself to think
That the signs were misleading.
That maybe somehow
I was just bad at reading.
But like dawn breaks,
The truth comes out.
I wanted to kill,
I wanted to shout.
My unmoving resolve
Demanded blood!
But before I could speak
Tears came, in a flood.
Now my resolve fails,
Faltering as I watch from afar.
The stone freezes again.
After all... it's just one more scar.
there is nothing more beautiful
than the scar of a fallen angel-
in broken ivory feathers cloaked,
wrapped in a veil of mending sutures;
as she sits,
her head down-
clenched fists...
awaiting someone to heal her wound
as she deserves
her honey-hazel eyes as frail as October,
barren skin iridescently tender,
an aria of her melody exclaims what
she felt like that night-
the fear of falling unwillingly,
the wonder of what will become of life,
or death,
or both
though woe was worn and her heart torn,
she saw the ebullience in her wound-
the way her scar shined was a marvel,
a PERFECT flaw worn in the dark of night
though she’s wounded in ways the
heavens cannot heal from afar-
there’s nothing more lovely
than a fallen angel’s beautiful scar
February 9, 2018
I dream in color.
Shades of grey mix to form shadows of black and white.
Pictures melt together like wax candles on a strawberry birthday cake.
I like roses, the red ones flecked with black tear drops.
The one's with scars and stains that refuse to fade with time.
I relate to their pain.
They stand tall with the look of disgust painted upon their tattered leaves.
Heads are bowed and eyes are averted as passerby refuse to take notice.
Shame, it makes the world go 'round.
Most of my life I’ve tried to hide scars because they were ugly reminders of things I didn’t want to think about. And a lot of those scars were invisible to the naked eye. A human couldn’t see these are scars, similar to deep open wounds within me. I learned they are not damaged eye sores but trophies for the trials and tribulations I have overcome thus far. Your scars can be the medals you attain, having given yourself the opportunity to lean deep into your faith. We'll learn we have been healed and forgiven for any wrong we did, any sins we committed. Reminders, we were already forgiven. Those scars are something to remember when we feel like quitting a reminder for when we are too weak to want to feel. We need to remember that someone already died for the terrible things we ruminate on that have already been crucified and healed . Try not to focus on how deep the wound is, keep in mind his are for eternity, that he endured for believers in his word. How can we complain when someone was murdered for you and me. To be able to live a life of love and abundance sin free. I challenge you to use your scars as badges of honor for the rest of your breaths eternity