“Do not cry over spilled milk”, they said.
“It’s okay, move on”, they hushed me and fled.
In the barren land, they left me alone as I bled,
memories, pain, regret, spurt out of my veins instead.

It’s the memories. The past that never let go,
the soul that nags me, to feed it to grow,
and one day, it’s welcomed to the show.

I would change it if I could, I’d go back and say no,
I wouldn’t let that kid hit me with snow,
I’d value myself, I’d glow,
and I wouldn’t let that lady bring me low.

I wouldn’t let you act like I’m invisible to your brown eyes,
I wouldn’t hold back my anger, and overlook your lies,
I’d shed no tears, I’d take no advice,
and If you hurt me, I leave, I won’t think twice.

It’s the past…
It’s the past that beats inside me like a second heart,
It’s the pain, that tears me every time apart.
It’s the memories that accompany me in the dark,
It’s a blemish, as long-lasting as a birthmark.


16 thoughts on “Birthmark

  1. Thank you Khulood for inviting me to your blog and reading mine. I really enjoyed reading this poem. There is no wasted space. It flows so well and for me is very universal yet so very personal at the same time.

    Liked by 1 person

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s