scar_garden unhinged it's so pretty to look at white and red against skin like flowers in the spring 010123 ... Thyartshallshant I wish my scars were like a garden. Just those two words together make me laugh. I'm not sure why though. It's that m y legs and m y arms don't look as pretty as a garden. I've never seen my scars on the fair skin of a beauty though. Mabey the color mixed with the light reflection adds certain beauty to it I will never seen as my own. I guess you are lucky, because to me my scars provide the only visual note that screams my pain. I wish my scars were like a garden. 010123 ... misstree each one ripe red, or white, streaks of decoration laid in the pattern of a dance. i walk through and reminisce on each bloom. i hope that years from now, my garden is as full of the celebration of life. 010124 ... unhinged but this is the celebration of life... the pain, the screaming, the insanity. life isn't always happy, never perfect. don't fade away. these lessons help me not to make the same mistake twice. 010124 ... Lucien I always seem to plant so many gardens, full of scars, in myself, or in other people.... 010124 ... birdmad red_liquid_blossom 010124 ... unhinged my scar_garden seems insignificant and frivolous today. but it is still as beautiful as it ever was. more striped. more complete. 010128 ... Mustard Inspector cuts and jabs and pokes and burns run up my arms and down my legs never as a garden but as a over-grown, weed-ridden lot of new tissue growing larger and larger by the day 010129 ... cazzi my scar garden is nicely cultivated and fairly regular and well tended. i like to take care of it, so it doens't look unkempt. i admire it for what it is... 010130 ... Tank sometimes mine seems almost invisible, and sometimes i see it well... 010130 ... j_blue i know what you mean 010130 ... sabbie and sometimes i can forget about them for days on end. It has been 5 years now since i last planted anything but then, i'll catch them slanted in the sun or glancing down while i itch and i will suddenly see them all again. they are fading, but the most familier ones will be part of me forever they are all part of me forever but some of them have just sunk right in a dead branch resting in the mud to be swallowed completely over time, but some of them stick out so dead white against my skin. and sometimes just seeing them it makes me cry. i wonder if they will ever stop having that power over me and become just plain old scars like the one where i fell off my bike or the one where i ran into the car. and i often find myself wanting to apologise to my arm for it having to bear this burden then and now. scar garden. i like it. others have photographs, a record of their life. i have a scar garden that reminds me where i've been. 010225 ... Xipe Totec the road map of all my misadventures 010225 ... unhinged i'm too resigned to plant anything anymore. he saw them and asked me where they came from, how. i told him i didn't know. maybe i'll tell him the truth someday. it was a razor blade dear. 010314 ... unhinged it's springtime some new flowers should be coming up any day now 010403 ... redspark the gardener wants to plant roses but is scared of the thorns of past experiances 010428 ... redspark now that it comes to it, i dont like thinking about it as a garden, i dont know it just seems wrong, it makes me picture flowers growing out of my arms, its not right 010428 ... 13lue it reminds me of a movie i once saw about this guy who would kill girls and drop them on the bottom of the lake, he called it his garder, sounds kinda morbid huh? 010430 ... redspark very, burrrrr, gives me the shivvers, i saw the preview for that 010501 ... unhinged eh, there's beauty in everything 010523 ... nemo i looked at his, and softly kissed it 010620 ... lost my scars are slightly fading now. at least the self inflicted scars are. 010621 ... Mutant it's so ugly to ignore black and green inside bone unlike weeds in the autumn 010622 ... yummychuckle I'll look at mine and feel ashamed that they are less visible and i feel like I need to plant new slashes because the old ones are dying out. So something goes wrong and i hold myself back, and then I just ask "whats the point? its not like I'm killing myself." just planting some new seeds. 010622 ... lost i am soon to plant some new ones. i dont really want to, but since what happened happened, and when i go in my room and see the razor blade on my dresser i know i will do it. it's going to slide in with such ease and even less pain. i will here it tear through my skin... the way it always does. it's amazing to me how it doesnt hurt at all when my mind is full of anguish and hate. 010729 ... Sol under saliva polish and shine like starlight and taste of yesterday. the rut the holes the winks conspiritous wispers and saccarine nods they seep into my ears and plant their blooms cadmium roses and mercurial iris grow behind my eyes from atop skin and whisper to me about me about them rainy eyelash lashes slashes crescent armband which reminds me to be awake not let the night steal my light and the crimson cardemoms and the iceheat peppers enrich the air itch the air bitch the air and under moonish whiteish flightish and the leaks from the mind provide the lilies of the flesh. 010730 ... jane in a neat row across the back of my hand where each finger begins i stopped tending to it recently but i don't know, maye i'll feel the urge to revive the red_liquid_blossom s 020814 ... Sailor Jupiter I would never tend and prune another garden so carefully as I do my scar garden. 020814 ... lycanthrope all that grows there is erasure, the sad pain of maintanence, the unbearable dissipation of things which are supposed to remain, mean something, be taken seriously. the only thing that grows out of scars is new skin. each successive skin, a darker dimension to fill, a thicker veil to pull aside, if one wishes to kiss the bleeding face of god. the constant under all of the levels of change, the transposition of tenderness, blooming in the eyes of another, in the look i allow a razor. 020814 ... werewolf don't get me wrong, i find it poetic...but does everyone do this? jeesh...what does a sane man do when society is crazy? 020814 ... werewolf i'm like the guy shouting...beware the vampires...and then there's a mirror and i'm the only one in the room casting a reflection. one of the deeper far side cartoons 020814 ... knot me oh you called back? ah...good thing i only had time to cut one of my wrists. look...i cut happy faces into them. the mortician will say...we got a real joker. but the joke's on you funny guy, cuz an ironic person does not commit suicide. 020814 ... stork daddy fear of commitment? 020814 ... happy mom dolphin you ever have a lover who treats you bad, makes you cry makes you sad, and she's really angry when she's mad...but you still gotta go to her? and the fault line she carves into your heart are no one's fault, and they're a badge of pride to you, because it was you reaching out and touching something sharp that you were afraid of. it was you overvaluing what people try to sneak around, can't deal with too long. everything that puts work into being solid faces erosion. and scars are the sign of a classical struggle of epic purportions, scars are the sign of boundries and divisions slipping and reforming, because they remain the beck and call of this something from nothing universe, the pain of expansion in the face of tendencies towards contraction. does that explain it? 020814 ... curious king george III words are scars...they grow over meaning, and become them, untill they have their own sensuality, devoid of healing. 020814 ... oppressed_youth ...Busch Gardens' lesser known sister theme park. Cheaper, but more violent rides. 020819 ... unhinged i'm afraid of it now because anger never got anyone anywhere but in the hospital. 020819 ... Freak ....perfect rows down my leg.... when will I finally give in and plant again? 030915 ... iNsEcUrE_GoTh_GiRl not yet a scar garden stopped before it could be. 'how are you going to get a job? they check for things like that.' it's such an easy way to deal why wont they leave me alone? will i be able to get a job even if i have scars? its none of their business if i have. my small garden growing stopping starting growing stopping waiting fading ........ now to grow again? 040126 ... . i never cried over it your flesh now stale in my mouth. memories of you destroyed and forgotten. for you it was a knife to your wrists - a cry for help from the outside. for me.. i layed in bed, motionless, for hours after school. i put on headphones so noone would bother me, but no music was playing. no medicine to comfort me. some things i am incapable of. not through genetics but lessons learned and cruel discipline. as if i could ever feel true love for anybody. as if you could ever stay away from all those pills, full of longing you choke them down and feel fine, but i will never see you the way i saw you that night again. your green notebook, incautiously hidden in your dresser droor. "i fall asleep in my own bleeding arms, one thousand tiny lacerations never hurt anyone." and we thought... we were perfect for each other. but at night in dreams when my eyes shake and truth is revealed i meet you in the scar garden, where red roses blossom against green sickly skin and thorns are so deep in our sides. and there we see how spoiled we really are. now i fear how people see me. i fear i am an illusion. 050128 ... . just (....) Damn 050128 ... skinny (two blathes up) gah. i need the balls to post under my own name. i think i sounded too emo. oh well. i guess thats me. 050128 ... the awful truth a scar garden covering her skin red wrought-iron holding the hurt in she keeps it watered and shaded by some long black sleeves you don't know what it means. bloodshot blisters inside my eyeballs burning roaches in the tray i rub my eyeballs try to see it clearly try to make it through the day every sip of smoke and tick of clock like knives against the flesh i know it doesnt matter if you yourself don't push the blade in i'm hoping for the best the second hand is razors the minute is a knife the hour hand, rotating slowly, the jaws of life opening and closing inside there's rusty nails fucking poke you in the eyeball it's pulling our your hair a fucking pipe inside the vise is beating at your hips they're spraying gas straight at your face to crack and split your lips the torture chamber is itself invisible, clearly the tolls of time upon the skin are still plain to see. 060621 ... Roaul Duke some are hardly even visible, others are fairly visible. just a couple weeks ago i started to cut over one of my old scars but i stopped. 060621 ... Lemon_Soda got one. 060622 ... unhinged cultivate_compassion so i don't need to plant scars anymore it's been about 15 months since the last time and i really think i don't need to anymore 060622 ... LS Its probably better in the long run. I feel anxiety sometimes when I wear polo's to the office. I understand I'm meant to be a very influential and successful person, and I certainly have the capability, but I have a bunch of scars on my forearms from cutting myself for my own or someone elses benefit. What do I say when they go "Wow, where'd you get those?" and not make it uncomfortable, for me or them? I look at them alot, and sometimes ask myself "How did THOSE get there?" with a laugh and then sullenly say ,"OH, yay...that was me..." I'm not very proud of them. 060704 ... birdmad i heal fairly quickly, so mine has been all but paved over by new_skin except where i kept at the same spots, cutting fine filigree in small places even the nicks and scrapes and little battle scars born from my recurring love for a good fight are slipping away 060705 ... nineteen I've not formulated a graceful way of dismissing inquiries, on the rare occasion that the scars are uncovered. And when they mean well (the strangers, the human beings, the beating hearts and pumping blood) I just want to tell them, "I don't need your advice or your help, these are scars. SCARS. Past expressions caught in my skin." It is just...an old issue. tissue. 060706 ... unhinged eh, i lied slightly. i don't do it myself anymore; i let someone else draw on me with a needle and ink instead. a professionally tended garden always looks nicer for the most part. 070126 ... birdmad after all of the weight i've lost in the last year, the oldest scars on my arm from nearly 20 years ago have started to show up again i find it perversely funny 070126 ... now_now Once these buds bloomed in winter Long sleeves and layers hid flowerings of pinks and whites reds and purples so that in spring prying eyes might notice [read: see what I want to see] Now the pressed blossoms fade with age weakly outlined sinking [lightened] unkempt the new rows crop up unseen [wild] the seasoned gardener knows to cultivate less conspicuously not yet ready to give up the tending trade 080305 ... jane {how did i know i would find you here?} 080305 ... goddamnit i wish i hadn't fuct it up 080306 ... now_now [gifted with intuition? or perhaps just smarter than the average jane?] 080306 ... Lemon_Soda You know, I'm considering a full suspension...or a new set of brandings... Choices, choices... Seems my proffesional credibility is safe as long as I continue to wear long sleeved shirts and a tie. 080306 ... unhinged been drawing my eye again lately i had learned how to not look at it not really wanting or needing other prying eyes, raised eyebrows faded to white they really aren't noticeable except up close i've taken to adding ink to the scars and it's been almost two years since the last time that the buzzing hum of the post glow pain made me feel connected to the universe outside myself in a way i never had been pain makes me real otherwise i become just an (fuck the guy wiping the tables just wiped the thought from my brain) 090216 ... flowerock< I can no longer justify these kinds of flowers in my garden. They manifest is less destructive forms now. I did not see the real value of life, did not see my place in the intricate_yet_simple web of this life. It was an outlet, bringing the inside to the outside, soul_sweat cleansing, alternative and ineffective communication. I began to read about what real problems were. I learned that there really were people being poisoned before birth from chemical waste, that people were starving because their forests were taken and replaced woth shoe factories, people were being sold and tortured, animals wiped out and used and grown loke souless shells not even worthy of a hermit crab. I felt even more overwhelmed but no longer justified in my "suffering" I saw that I could help myself and my immediate community. I did npt know how but certainly wasting blood was not the answer. I still picked flowers here and there but more for enjoyment of the feeling than for escape. later I let someone else try to plant some flowers, for fun, they cut too deep and I worried I needed stiches but feared the judgement of the nurses so let them bleed through bandges and wore dark pants for a few weeks. The ones I made myself are mostly gone now, the ones from him remain, slowly fading. I wonder about the garden that is my wb and if there are cars there from being scraped and poked and vacuumed like a dorty hotel room. Can flowers still grow there? I focus now on real flowers and healing real scars. If I feel a need for that wonderful contrast and feeling of blood on my skin then I can wait for menstruation to fill my menstrual cup, stand in a hot or cold shower and pour it over myself, beautiful, this blood is meant to create and grow realiving_flowers. tmi? is_thereally_such_a_thing? 140207 ... flowerock< *the garden that is mu womb, not wb 140207 ... flowerock< scars not cars, geez... phone touch screens are aweful. 140207 ... epitome of incomprehensibility I'm trying to stop scratching the skin on my arms and shoulders. Every two or three times a week I want to, because it puts me in a thinking state where I can think over things, head turned, focusing on the details of tininess. But I could just easily think and walk, without so much (so to speak) navel-gazing. Longer focus. I used to scorn the idea of cutting skin as if this were different by type, not just degree. As if it were better to have "more interesting" problems. As if I actually did. But about stopping: What won't work is telling myself that pulling scabs or breaking little pimples is gross. Some traces remain - whiter patches of skin, red spots of burst capillaries or something - that don't look pretty. But skin blemishes happen anyway: red irritations on back of shoulders from carrying backpack, pimples on sweaty insides of elbows. What is needed maybe is appreciation for the functionality of skin, not its appearance, and enough respect not to harm it. Not even irritate it needlessly. (I respect people enough not to hurt them, but do I respect them enough not to irritate them? ...No; not usually.) Appreciation - flowerock you were right on with that bit. Even if periods rather annoy me, and don't seem either gross enough or earth-mother-time-rhythmy enough to be exciting. 140208 ... unhinged song of the day: scar gardens - grieves i'm not your paradise girl you shoulda never even asked i'm not your paradise girl i shoulda never even showed you another rhymesayer i'm musically, lyrically in_love with. i_love_slug for starting the revolution in the midwest 141121 what's it to you? who go blather from