Scars

Words to me are like people.

There are so many, such a variety,

Each different, individualistic,

Each with potential to reimagine society.

But they don’t.

 

Words to me are like friends.

They can be so kind, and warm your heart,

With the ability to heal your wounds,

And the ability to save you from your self-made dark.

But they won’t.

 

Words to me are like powers.

They give the right to make decisions,

To tell yourself things you want to hear,

They give a chance to recreate dimensions.

But in the end, you still have to face the reality that you fear.

 

Words to me are like people.

But to me, people mean more scars I’ll have to wear.

But scars to me are memories,

And I rearrange words so that they are words I want to hear.

I ignore what my memories really were,

Because they’re not the memories that I want in my past.

And it makes me feel at peace,

 

But deep down I know that peace does not last.

Because then I hear the words,

The words I mixed up are rearranged back into their original state.

By intentions that weren’t so clear,

But not by intentions that meant harm caused by malicious hate.

 

So words to me are like people.

Sometimes, they bring me pain.