It took weeks for the skin of his damaged lip to return to its smooth and soft state. It took weeks, and within a day his teeth were gnawing, blood soaking his tongue and shame filling his chest.
At first I thought I had frightened her, and maybe I had, at the end of the day isn’t that how it starts? – but as it turned out it was deeper than that. It was something she would spend time and money to sit in a chair and discuss. No salve or lotion would ever solve the problem. That’s what fathers do.
He flinched a little as her fingertips brushed over it. He didn’t want to meet her eyes, but he could feel the weight of her gaze. When he finally looked up, she asked the silent question he’d been dreading. Her palm, cool and soft, rested gently over the ugliest part as she waited. “Looks worse than is, really,” he laughed nervously. “My dad, he uh…well he was a great guy, until he got drunk.”
When he touched me, I knew I’d be scarred for life.
I screamed and tried to get away, but he held fast and slammed me back against the wall, hard. His lips wandered all over my body and I sobbed and squeezed my eyes shut, praying that this would all be over soon and someone would come and rescue me.
She closed her eyes, knowing she won’t be able to sleep peacefully for quite some time. How she wished it was her body that was irreparably scarred, not her mind.
I have these invisible scars, like my invisible dreadlocks, part of my invisible real self, carefully hidden by myself while anxiously waiting for the one who will magically be able to see my scars, my self and love me anyway.
my spirit is a valley of scars
courtesy of lashes from my tongue
words spewed out with malice, some boomeranged inward
back back back where they’ve made a home
I was scarred to death. Nearly. There in front of me stood the great big Lion. Beautiful but scary. Would He eat me, or would He put me on his back, like Aslan did to Susan and Lucy. I soon found out. He was Aslan! He put me on His back and carried me away into the night to Care Parrevel.
“I’m going to be scarred for life!” laughed Charlie, gripping the chair as her shoulders convulsed with hidden giggles. She was just about ready to slap Paul silly for his antics – most recently, his waltzing around the apartment with only a speedo on, showing off what he described as his “curves.” It was sort of amazing to have a gay roommate, because Charlie was as gay as a rainbow, and Paul was a compilation of even more colors of the spectrum.
I would think that I would like the idea of something pure. Pristine. Something unadulterated.
But with age and with experience, I no longer think that way. To be scarred. To be affected. To have bruises. That is an indication that I have lived. That I have survived. That I am able to further develop myself to be someone stronger and better.
Indeed, these wounds which life has inflicted on me – I shall carry them with pride as they serve as a reminder that things will get better.
She coils in the corner of the room, wrapped around herself like a snake. Creature of the night, this dragon, her ebony scales lined with marks. The city catches on her wings, the people wound her as they feel they must. Scars ribbon her body like veins. She sleeps, breath filling her like light in morning.
jabbed in the foot with the opening door the skin is sarred no longer bleeding bleeding
who says sars an’t be healed. they an but you have to believe it.
When he looked in the mirror, all he saw was the scars. They crisscrossed his stomach, his back, his ribs, permanent representations of the mental scars that, unlike these wounds, would never be able to heal.
The landscape was dissected by asphalt rivers. They leave scars in the visage like stretch marks on skin. The earth, stretching, temporarily, for the human creatures which swarm across its surface for an instance in time and then leave, to death and elsewhere, leaving behind a legacy of concrete on dust.
Broken and bruised, scarred, invisible wounds that haunt me every day and night. I close my eyes and I’m forced to face the scars I try so hard to ignore. To pretend don’t exist.
I looked at her face, the red line – jagged – falling down her face splitting it in two. Scarred. Both halves ridden with smaller scars that cut even deeper, but still, made her no less beautiful.
My spine and brain are scarred.
That’s why everything hurts so much.
Physically, emotionally.
I can’t wait for the day when things don’t hurt anymore.
I look forward to it.
Freedom is a life without scars.
They all were scarred. The years had taken the toll on all of them. Perhaps it wasn’t physical, though in some cases it was, but the mental scars were even worse. Because they were even more painful.
The scar on his left shoulder sure has a story. It may not be an awesome heroic one bu its a story. The cross scar was on his sholder because he was stupid and. Fell on the knives in the dish washer but hey he knows better now. Yup no more blade facing up knives for John clarkson.
He was scarred.
That was the first thing you noticed about him, and your hand trails down those very scars. You’re curious, but at the same time, you don’t want to pry. After that night, it’s hard to say much to him, and you can almost feel him staring at you as if begging you not to say a word.
“They should heal up soon.” It’s true, but your heart clenches as though you’d lied.
Scarred for life
One picture
Ruined relationship
Thought he could be trusted
Apparently not
Hope other people
Aren’t as scarred as
I am
Scared
Of that picture of me
Bared to all the world
Flesh peeled away
Secrets revealed
One picture
His mother “SOLD” him to a rich family. She was poor so she thought that giving her son to a rich family would be a good choice as he would have all luxuries of life. But, rich family was cruel. They treated her son like a servant. Ultimately, somebody reported this to police. Police came to rescue of his son. His son apparently doing fine now, But, his son has scars all over his heart with stabs of different kind of humiliation from rich family, He has lost his childhood.
I was truly scarred. The devil was after me. i could do nothing but run. Run like I had never run before. Would he catch me ? I could not decide. I spent most of my life dreaming. Now,
it is like the dream never happened. I’ve moved on.
I have scars on my legs from bug bites. Nothing cool, no outrageous stories to tell. They have always embarrassed me. They make me feel ugly – ashamed. I wish that I had even, smooth skin on my legs like a supermodel but that would require airbrush.
There wasn’t an inch of my skin that I don’t wish I could erase. The doctors destroyed, mutilated, humiliated me. Turned me against the roaches I considered myself one of. So is this an improvement or a disfigurement?
The CD was scarred and scratched along the edges when I took it out of the CD port. No wonder the program wasn’t working. I found a cloth and wiped off the CD, but it seemed damaged beyond repair. I would have to buy a new copy of the program. I added that to the “To Do” list.
He was scarred. It was ugly, but he learned to not care. He got over people staring at him a long time ago- besides, the worst scars were beneath the skin. Those never went away, no matter how long you wait. But he got over those too.
he was scarred as he lay in his bed fear of never seeing his children again and he heard the voice of his late wife saying its not to late its not to late to give your life to Jesus he still loves you he wants to live with you forever in Heaven he loves you he will all ways love you no matter what you have done he will forgive you.
GOD so love the world that he sent his only son to die on the cross so that whoever believed
in him should not perish but have eternal life Jesus love you no matter what you have done the Devil may be saying you are worthless you are a sinner God does not want you Jesus will
all ways forgive you if you ask he loves you and wants to be with you
His scar is long and angry, bisecting his chest where Ishay cut him open to save his life. Laura likes to run her hand down it to remind herself he’s alive. Hers is much smaller, an almost invisible mark on her breast from that first biopsy. She’s glad she can hardly see it because it reminds her she won’t be so lucky.
I have been completely scarred by the events of my life which started in the summer of 2012. I still don’t know how he was capable of such lies and I am afraid it will haunt me until the day I die. Lord Help Me!
He is laughing again. We have grown so old, I think, and we are full of things that never came to pass. There is a narrow scar along the edge of his wrist, and I am thinking that if I followed it North maybe I would find the ocean, the thunder, and his eyes. I am thinking that scars are less signs of hurt than signs of healing, or maybe of a half-healed hurt. He is still laughing, for we are old now. I’m trying not to worry; it’s just a flesh wound, love.
Her face was a twisted, ugly thing, scarred in so many ways. A gash ran from her eyebrow to her cheek bone, unravelling over her eye and destroying the sight. What was once brilliantly blue, was now white and bloodshot, no longer able to see the evil of the world. Another pink mark ran jagged across her jaw.
I was scarred permanently after that day. Not because of the car, not because of the stitches, but more because of the hole the crash left in my heart. I should have saved him… I should have done something… I could have done something. On good days, it’s bad, and bad days, it’s worse. But he would have wanted me to keep on with life, to lead a better life. I will always mourn him. But scarring doesn’t last forever, and if it does, you can always cover up and forget about it.
It took weeks for the skin of his damaged lip to return to its smooth and soft state. It took weeks, and within a day his teeth were gnawing, blood soaking his tongue and shame filling his chest.
At first I thought I had frightened her, and maybe I had, at the end of the day isn’t that how it starts? – but as it turned out it was deeper than that. It was something she would spend time and money to sit in a chair and discuss. No salve or lotion would ever solve the problem. That’s what fathers do.
He flinched a little as her fingertips brushed over it. He didn’t want to meet her eyes, but he could feel the weight of her gaze. When he finally looked up, she asked the silent question he’d been dreading. Her palm, cool and soft, rested gently over the ugliest part as she waited. “Looks worse than is, really,” he laughed nervously. “My dad, he uh…well he was a great guy, until he got drunk.”
When he touched me, I knew I’d be scarred for life.
I screamed and tried to get away, but he held fast and slammed me back against the wall, hard. His lips wandered all over my body and I sobbed and squeezed my eyes shut, praying that this would all be over soon and someone would come and rescue me.
She closed her eyes, knowing she won’t be able to sleep peacefully for quite some time. How she wished it was her body that was irreparably scarred, not her mind.
You left me scarred with your sharp fingers nails, hanging, curling like red claws. But I’m not scared. I’ve been scarred before, not now.
a teenage boy found a mysterious creature and got scarred by it. he was sent to hospital straight to hospital.
I have these invisible scars, like my invisible dreadlocks, part of my invisible real self, carefully hidden by myself while anxiously waiting for the one who will magically be able to see my scars, my self and love me anyway.
my spirit is a valley of scars
courtesy of lashes from my tongue
words spewed out with malice, some boomeranged inward
back back back where they’ve made a home
I was scarred to death. Nearly. There in front of me stood the great big Lion. Beautiful but scary. Would He eat me, or would He put me on his back, like Aslan did to Susan and Lucy. I soon found out. He was Aslan! He put me on His back and carried me away into the night to Care Parrevel.
“I’m going to be scarred for life!” laughed Charlie, gripping the chair as her shoulders convulsed with hidden giggles. She was just about ready to slap Paul silly for his antics – most recently, his waltzing around the apartment with only a speedo on, showing off what he described as his “curves.” It was sort of amazing to have a gay roommate, because Charlie was as gay as a rainbow, and Paul was a compilation of even more colors of the spectrum.
I would think that I would like the idea of something pure. Pristine. Something unadulterated.
But with age and with experience, I no longer think that way. To be scarred. To be affected. To have bruises. That is an indication that I have lived. That I have survived. That I am able to further develop myself to be someone stronger and better.
Indeed, these wounds which life has inflicted on me – I shall carry them with pride as they serve as a reminder that things will get better.
She coils in the corner of the room, wrapped around herself like a snake. Creature of the night, this dragon, her ebony scales lined with marks. The city catches on her wings, the people wound her as they feel they must. Scars ribbon her body like veins. She sleeps, breath filling her like light in morning.
jabbed in the foot with the opening door the skin is sarred no longer bleeding bleeding
who says sars an’t be healed. they an but you have to believe it.
When he looked in the mirror, all he saw was the scars. They crisscrossed his stomach, his back, his ribs, permanent representations of the mental scars that, unlike these wounds, would never be able to heal.
The landscape was dissected by asphalt rivers. They leave scars in the visage like stretch marks on skin. The earth, stretching, temporarily, for the human creatures which swarm across its surface for an instance in time and then leave, to death and elsewhere, leaving behind a legacy of concrete on dust.
Broken and bruised, scarred, invisible wounds that haunt me every day and night. I close my eyes and I’m forced to face the scars I try so hard to ignore. To pretend don’t exist.
I looked at her face, the red line – jagged – falling down her face splitting it in two. Scarred. Both halves ridden with smaller scars that cut even deeper, but still, made her no less beautiful.
My spine and brain are scarred.
That’s why everything hurts so much.
Physically, emotionally.
I can’t wait for the day when things don’t hurt anymore.
I look forward to it.
Freedom is a life without scars.
They all were scarred. The years had taken the toll on all of them. Perhaps it wasn’t physical, though in some cases it was, but the mental scars were even worse. Because they were even more painful.
The scar on his left shoulder sure has a story. It may not be an awesome heroic one bu its a story. The cross scar was on his sholder because he was stupid and. Fell on the knives in the dish washer but hey he knows better now. Yup no more blade facing up knives for John clarkson.
He was scarred.
That was the first thing you noticed about him, and your hand trails down those very scars. You’re curious, but at the same time, you don’t want to pry. After that night, it’s hard to say much to him, and you can almost feel him staring at you as if begging you not to say a word.
“They should heal up soon.” It’s true, but your heart clenches as though you’d lied.
Scarred for life
One picture
Ruined relationship
Thought he could be trusted
Apparently not
Hope other people
Aren’t as scarred as
I am
Scared
Of that picture of me
Bared to all the world
Flesh peeled away
Secrets revealed
One picture
His mother “SOLD” him to a rich family. She was poor so she thought that giving her son to a rich family would be a good choice as he would have all luxuries of life. But, rich family was cruel. They treated her son like a servant. Ultimately, somebody reported this to police. Police came to rescue of his son. His son apparently doing fine now, But, his son has scars all over his heart with stabs of different kind of humiliation from rich family, He has lost his childhood.
The untrained eye noticed her scars. In reality, she was absent of any, as a scar can only form after healing.
Scars are only that. Flesh wounds, that in time, will heal. Scars are experience, scars are stories.
I was truly scarred. The devil was after me. i could do nothing but run. Run like I had never run before. Would he catch me ? I could not decide. I spent most of my life dreaming. Now,
it is like the dream never happened. I’ve moved on.
I have scars on my legs from bug bites. Nothing cool, no outrageous stories to tell. They have always embarrassed me. They make me feel ugly – ashamed. I wish that I had even, smooth skin on my legs like a supermodel but that would require airbrush.
There wasn’t an inch of my skin that I don’t wish I could erase. The doctors destroyed, mutilated, humiliated me. Turned me against the roaches I considered myself one of. So is this an improvement or a disfigurement?
His face was scarred almost beyond recognition. But she knew him anyway. His long hair hung over his eyes. But she knew him anyway.
on my wrists on my heart someone did this to me i did it to myself
it means i am tough i made it through the pain-
ive suffered im better now
He was scarred. But he was proud.
The CD was scarred and scratched along the edges when I took it out of the CD port. No wonder the program wasn’t working. I found a cloth and wiped off the CD, but it seemed damaged beyond repair. I would have to buy a new copy of the program. I added that to the “To Do” list.
He was scarred. It was ugly, but he learned to not care. He got over people staring at him a long time ago- besides, the worst scars were beneath the skin. Those never went away, no matter how long you wait. But he got over those too.
he was scarred as he lay in his bed fear of never seeing his children again and he heard the voice of his late wife saying its not to late its not to late to give your life to Jesus he still loves you he wants to live with you forever in Heaven he loves you he will all ways love you no matter what you have done he will forgive you.
GOD so love the world that he sent his only son to die on the cross so that whoever believed
in him should not perish but have eternal life Jesus love you no matter what you have done the Devil may be saying you are worthless you are a sinner God does not want you Jesus will
all ways forgive you if you ask he loves you and wants to be with you
His scar is long and angry, bisecting his chest where Ishay cut him open to save his life. Laura likes to run her hand down it to remind herself he’s alive. Hers is much smaller, an almost invisible mark on her breast from that first biopsy. She’s glad she can hardly see it because it reminds her she won’t be so lucky.
I have been completely scarred by the events of my life which started in the summer of 2012. I still don’t know how he was capable of such lies and I am afraid it will haunt me until the day I die. Lord Help Me!
He is laughing again. We have grown so old, I think, and we are full of things that never came to pass. There is a narrow scar along the edge of his wrist, and I am thinking that if I followed it North maybe I would find the ocean, the thunder, and his eyes. I am thinking that scars are less signs of hurt than signs of healing, or maybe of a half-healed hurt. He is still laughing, for we are old now. I’m trying not to worry; it’s just a flesh wound, love.
Her face was a twisted, ugly thing, scarred in so many ways. A gash ran from her eyebrow to her cheek bone, unravelling over her eye and destroying the sight. What was once brilliantly blue, was now white and bloodshot, no longer able to see the evil of the world. Another pink mark ran jagged across her jaw.
I was scarred permanently after that day. Not because of the car, not because of the stitches, but more because of the hole the crash left in my heart. I should have saved him… I should have done something… I could have done something. On good days, it’s bad, and bad days, it’s worse. But he would have wanted me to keep on with life, to lead a better life. I will always mourn him. But scarring doesn’t last forever, and if it does, you can always cover up and forget about it.