The Making of Scars

see note for reviewers.

Faster than a speeding bullet &

into the world she came,

 

                         popped from the cannon, faster

                         than a spinning weather vane &

 

in the midst of the madness, the

hysteria of it all, she

 

                         had a mother whose brother snapped &

                         dropped the ball,

 

this is how the story of the scarring

begins,

 

                         quick as a whistle, without reason

                         or the illusion of “sin”

 

& the formative years came just as

quickly as they went,

 

                         the pet cat was found smothered in a  

                         hot ceiling vent,

 

a child in her kindergarten was threatened

with a fork &

 

                         the teacher who witnessed it wouldn’t

                         blame it on the stork,

 

and the counselors moaned in tandem &

so it was agreed,

 

                         off to the mhu for sweet Emily,

 

there, like any prisoner, she learned worse

stories than her own,

 

                         she learned that there were plenty amongst her

                        who’d she simply couldn’t know,

 

she saw the fragility & the damage, the

irresponsibility of humankind,

 

                        she saw the early garbage bin where we get placed                  

                        before we end up incarcerated or fried,

 

she grew sadder, not better, she found no

consolation prize,

 

                        there wasn’t a moment of true compassion,

                        when they all clocked out at 5,

 

so with time the mind grows weary, sick of

fighting its surroundings,

 

                         so she became used to being reduced to

                         a caged animal with voices sounding,

 

echoing, bouncing off the walls inside her

head,

 

                         looking for a hug from the mother/father she

                         never really had,

 

she cut herself, hang herself,

she tried every escape in the book,

 

                         but nothing seemed to really work, it was all

                         gobbledygook,

 

her doctors wanted her locked up forever,

the best way to secure their job,

 

                         regardless of what pain it caused,

                         regardless of how it throbbed,

 

ultimately she was cast out to the wolves,

the wolves that hadn’t been caught yet,

 

                         and rather than being torn up & eaten,

                         she decided not to sweat the threat,

 

for with a harder core than anyone,

she pitied nothing & began abusing,

                        

                         with a blank canvas in front of her,

                         she spread the paint of blood,

 

she beat those that put their trust in her,

she sliced everyone she could,

 

                         using every tool in her tool box,

                         every bit of viciousness she learned,

 

 

she scarred those that let this happen to her,

relentlessly, watching the system burn.

Author's Note

“Our scars have the power to remind us that the past was real.”

-Dr. Hannibal Lecter, Red Dragon (2002)


“There’s just too much that time cannot erase.”

-from the song, “My Immortal,” by Evanescence