Poetry

Ragged

“All I can do is wait. And hope.
These scars might fade over time.”

These scars are a permanence that goes deeper than flesh. They cut so deep onto my mind I can almost feel the ragged gashes left behind. It weighs heavy like iron pellets. And I have no choice but to bear them. With luck, those red, angry marks might fade over time and blend in without them glaring back at me in a constant reminder of all that happened.

© Sarah Doughty

All I can do is wait. And hope.

3 thoughts on “Ragged”

  1. We are all Frankensteins with more or less visible scars. Each seam tells a story. Running your fingers (even if metaphorically) along them reminds us of where we’ve been and who we have become. They might still hurt, but at least they are not being deepened.

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