unhinged it's so pretty to look at
white and red
against skin
like flowers in the spring
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.
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.
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
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
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.
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
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
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.
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
and the leaks from the mind
provide the lilies of the flesh.
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
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.
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?
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
now to grow again?
. 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.
. just


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.
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
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.
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
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 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.
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
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
[read: see what I want to see]

the pressed
fade with age
weakly outlined

the new rows crop up
the seasoned
gardener knows
to cultivate
less conspicuously
not yet ready
to give up
the tending trade
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?]
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.
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

i become just an
(fuck the guy wiping the tables
just wiped the thought from my brain)
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.
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
what's it to you?
who go