A while back I wrote a post with a poem called Red Lines, this was the poem:
Red Lines
Red lines
On a once smooth, perfect, canvas.
Hidden by day,
But prominent in the dark.
So straight,
Like the edge of a building;
But not that deep.
Perfectly parallel;
Designed to lie together.
Blinds,
Shielding the other side.
The true colour
Seeping out.
My boyfriend wrote a response poem that made me cry, maybe it'll do the same for someone else. It personally made me feel a lot less crazy for having scars. Enjoy!
Red Lines: Not a Curse
Red Lines
Red lines
On a once smooth, perfect, canvas.
Hidden by day,
But prominent in the dark.
So straight,
Like the edge of a building;
But not that deep.
Perfectly parallel;
Designed to lie together.
Blinds,
Shielding the other side.
The true colour
Seeping out.
My boyfriend wrote a response poem that made me cry, maybe it'll do the same for someone else. It personally made me feel a lot less crazy for having scars. Enjoy!
Red Lines: Not a Curse
Thin, red, parallel,
Cut where none can see,
Rough skin, smooth skin,
Rough to smooth,
Mental to physical.
Still beautiful,
Not a ruined canvas,
Nothing can change her strength,
Nothing makes her less beautiful.
Red Lines
do not make her
do not shape her
give her strength