a poem by Melyssa G. Sprott, USA - poetry writer, author, poet

Scars remind me that my past was real,
like the sight of you and the scent of beer.

I’ll never hate anything more:
you are everything that I abhor.

These scars remind of the truth…
what was God thinking when he made me from you?

My sons will never suffer this fate,
I’ll never become this thing I hate.

The scars remind me of where I’m from
and of the thing I’ll never become.

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