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Rebecca Bevan Poem
Each scar has a name, etched into my skin—
White lines barely visible on my pale arms.
There’s one for every heartbreak I ever got,
One for each battle I silently fought,
One for all the wrongdoings I had,
For every time my thoughts turned bad.
Each scar holds a memory, a ghost from the past,
Every cut done silently, hidden away after every tragedy.
The lines on my arms fade each day,
But the memories behind them refuse to go away.
Maybe these scars are signs of a warrior,
Signs of strength and resilience,
Marks of my unwavering diligence.
I don’t want the scars to fade—
Maybe I’ll fade with them,
The signs of power,
The signs of a survivor
Slipping quietly away.
My scars are a part of me;
Without them, who will I be?
Just someone who went through hardship
With nothing left to show for it.
Copyright © Rebecca Bevan | Year Posted 2025
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Details |
Rebecca Bevan Poem
I used to think blood meant forever,
That family would never hurt you.
“Blood’s thicker than water,” right?
But I take the water—
Wash away the blood,
Remove the red-soaked stains from my life.
Blood thicker than water?
Maybe in another life.
Family—
A word that holds little meaning,
A word they never earned.
They should have been my safe space,
Yet now there’s just an empty space,
A place I no longer belong.
I’m still here,
But they are gone.
I’m the black sheep of the family,
You could say different from the rest.
I never fit, no matter how much
I changed my shape or colour.
I tried to change,
Tried to blend in,
But I hated that I had to pretend—
Pretend to be one of them.
I finally realized maybe the black sheep isn’t bad.
Maybe being different
Is the realest thing this family has ever had.
Copyright © Rebecca Bevan | Year Posted 2025
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