True self
I pick at a scab on my face violently and hard -
My finger worms its way through my flesh,
in search of my true self.
Askew Poetry
Askew Poetry: A blog filled with feelings of hate, dread, fear, confusion and beauty.
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well i can not say that i am not compelled but why am i all of a sudden thinking poltergeist where the video tech with a piece of cold chicken in his mouth discovers his flesh peels? if your ghoulish i can hang with that but evil takes a lifetime of study and has its myriad forms could this be explored in your style?
Hi btas92,
Even though i’ve only just posted this, i wrote it some time ago.
At the point of writing it, i remeber quite clearly not likeing who i was.
It’s not meant to be goolish or evil in anyway shape or form.
‘The scab’ was what i saw in the mirror,an unhappy, negitive person that had lost his smile, picking at it helped to remove it, my fingers worm there way through the rotten, stale outer skin to try and find me and to get my smile back, my true self.
Thank you for your comment.
D.
which is fine by me but could this be a new poem now take this material and make it longer
I like the length of this particular poem. At first I was slightly disgusted by the picking of the scab, but by the last line I understood, related, and liked it a lot.
Hi Onemorning85,
I’m glad you got past the first line, and it’s nice to know that some people can relate to what i write.
Thank you for taking time out to read some of my poetry and leaving a comment.