“Buried Secrets” by M.E. McM

Marks of Crimson
on my skin.
Lines of despair,
you make me ugly.

Why did I make you?
I want you gone.
I want you gone so no one can see
my twisted mind.

But I want you to stay.
I want you to remind me
of every time I hated myself.

Remind me of all my mistakes
Tell me how terrible I am
Every time I see you
I think of my worth--
Not much.

A sick little girl
in a great big world
Virtually nothing
among space.

Each of you could be named
20 times over
For a different person
who has hurt me.
You whisper their names to me.

In that deep river of read
you hold

We are a bind.
We are connected
by mental awareness
and recovering skin.