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You never pick at me
You cover me with grease and wrap me up in tape
You protect me until I can stand on my feet again
Until the skin hardens and turns to armor
And you never pick at me

I’m strong and able and you can let me be
Because what lies beneath is no longer your concern
You go on and live
Because it’s over
It’s done
And you never pick at me

You don’t want to see the blood
Nor the truth within its deep color
You don’t want to feel the pain
What’s really behind it
So you never pick at me
And I never go away
©2008-2009 ~shhwatchthis
:iconshhwatchthis:

Author's Comments

I haven't written a poem in a few years, but the other day I cut myself at work and this popped into my head. I apologize for the hackneyed scab metaphor. Maybe if I'd broken my finger instead, this would've turned out differently.
Regardless of that, I'm not sure if I'm happy with it. Took me ten minutes or so to write and I wanted to write more, but nothing came out after the first three stanzas. I figured that meant it was finished. I hope it conveyed what I wanted it to.

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October 20, 2008
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