The Scar and the Knife

Needle and Thread

These are the scars and I am the knife
Injuries sell taught and lives undone
A lie to the world to damn the own soul
White wash these truths as they cannot be sold

These are the bruises and I am the harm
Circling outwards from a wound deep inside
The pain never seen when it’s hidden in veils
Dress up these eyesores with pictures of happy tales

These are the scratches and I am the claws
A nail left in the marking to fester and soil
An internal poison from a chalice of pretence
Is it better to live in shadows than to sit on this fence?

These are the bites and I am the fangs
A will for set blood let that cannot be told
This covering of flowers that die upon touch
Others turn a shamed cheek as the truth is too much

These are the wounds and I am the tear
Deep set and seeping this a mere sacrifice
The way to escape the horrors played out in the mind
Running away from heaven as this hell is just as kind

These are the scars and I am the knife
Set to unpick the stitches so the threads unwind
A shell of a being with a false life lived outside
This internal torture allowed to thrive when denied

Jabs 5/2/12

I was looking through my old work today, just out of curiosity. I find a lot of what I have written in dark and unhappy, but that doesn’t make me feel rueful, merely accepting and grateful for expression.

Who Can Me?

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Who can love me?
Bitter, sour heart that beats
Who can need me?
Vicious, cruel soul that bleeds
Who can save me?
Fractured, poisoned life of weeds
Who can see me?
Visible, hidden emotion that pleads

Can I love me?
Can I need me?
Can I save me?
When I am blind to see

Who can help me?
Broken, repaired mind of cracks
Who can relieve me?
Beating, tapping belief that is strained
Who can repair me?
Locked, unsecured eyes that weep
Who can hear me?
Muted, loud essence clamouring still

Can I help me?
Can I relieve me?
Can I repair me?
When I can’t hear myself?

Who can me?

Jade Smith
29/12/13

How And Why

red_angry_wallpaper_by_defectivedre-d4vz43y

How and why we do these things
To gain truth within all the lies
Weaving wired webs of deceit within conceit
Blurring the line between where and why
The little things that mean so much
Within the massive outcomes disregarded to fall
Fixating on the itch rather than the rotted twitch
Then to wonder why we reach nowhere at all

How and why we do these things
To perpetuate lies to envelope the truth
Knitting looms of answers clouded in hate
Blinding the barrier between the will and the why
The tiny things that awe and inspire
And the huge implosions that shatter with no dent
Blinkered by the it inside the backward thing
To then ponder why we achieved nothing at all

JS
23/9/13

Full Stops and Words

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Words are merely full stops in a blank mind
Where once I had an idea now lies
                     only
                                          empty
                                                               lines

Bitter rubble of half built prison walls contain
The optimism in the knowledge these barriers
                     Once
                     kept
                     me
                     caged

A beautiful darkness pouring free from the light
Reminiscing in the shadows that scarring brings
                                                               New
                                          bleeding
                     to
              life

Walking on sand of pulverised spiteful glass shards
Worn down by determination and damned footfall
                     Carrying
                     on
                     without
                     regard

words are only pauses in a vacated mind
Where once there was hope now only lies forged
                     denial

JS
11/3/14

Missing

wall_bricks

I have been missing
Not lost
Not misplaced
Unsure and yet not displaced

I have been missing
From mind
From soul
Seen and not out of place

I have been missing
Not searching
Not seeking
Stood still but rushed for pace

I have been missing
In hiding
In shadows
Needing heat but not this space

I have been missing
Still not found
Still not lost
A piece fragmented in mid race

I have been missing
Pen without ink
Paper without words
Stuck in statis behind stoney face

I have been missing
Not missing
Not unmissed
Surely certain and not displaced

JS
8/6/14

I Cried For You

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I was young I cried for you
The tortured little girl that no one knew
Now I’ve grown realisation makes me see
That battered, frightened child resides in me
How I struggled and fought every day
For innocence should never be made to pay
But when ash settles and smoke becomes air
The aftermath is in basalt that’s never fair

Now I’m old I weep only inside
As tears for a soul fractured must always hide
I still see that child with hope despite fear
And wonder how it was invisibly eroded by years
The fight continues without a victor or loss
An internalised war of belief and sore cost
Battle ground lay scared and burnt without a flame
A child crying without defined reason is still to blame

When I was younger I cried for you
That tortured girl that no one knew
Now I’m older I weep only unseen
As now I realise that child was always me

JS
27/5/13