Imperfect yet still here

Fri, 04/05/2019 - 14:15 -- V. L. W

White imperfections on the skin,

Hard on the touch, shinny, firm.

Little white crescents, battle marks,

Bigger marble line, accident signs.

Lightning bolt that reigns my finger,

impressionist must have played on my knee,

a blade became freinds with my complexion,

yet was banned from it - now it's free.

I've been through the battles,

My mind was to blame,

Like Alice in the mirror,

I've been burnt by that flame.

I smiled, I laught, I ran, I screamed,

but without a soul, it was pointless to be.

I struggled, nearly surrendered to those demons,

but the white flag never came,

I arise from those ashes,

and like a Pheonix, I flew away.

I got my soul back, back from that flame,

thanks to my friends who cared, unaware.

People who love you, help you before they know,

Those who don't give a damn wouldn't notice you are gone.

This poem is about: 
Me
Poetry Terms Demonstrated: 

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