It is me...

Upon demand, emotions flow,
Upon a steel...whetted sharp.
Torn, shredded rendered innocence,
Ragged weeping angry release.
Words wantonly wasted,
Rips gaping wounds within minds,
Leaving barren hopes flowing...away.
Tease with ease, no recourse
Forget the ever creeping darkness.
Surrounded by infantile insults,
Spewed verily without a moments thought,
To sow seeds of dissent
Upon fragile forming personality.
Trapped...forever confined...
In angers loving embrace.
Left alone to suffer depressions child,
Who with alacrity steals
Away security of our sanctuary,
Leaving tell tale lies of happiness.
A smile forever drawn,
Upon lips as Satan's lie,
To keep a secret of ourselves,
So to be left alone...
Or is it to protect others from our pain?
When last did tears of joy flow
Or laughter true echo forth?
When was suffering not in eyes seen,
Nor crimson drawings marring beauty?
To remember...yes...remember,
When story lines were not drawn,
When they were not needed...
But they are there!
A reminder of a time,
When each line was covered by a lie,
To hide the unbearable truth.
A heavy burden to carry alone,
A defining moment of a time.
To look back and relive the truth,
To what conclusion can one arrive?
The past defines the present,
But does not affect the future.
Each scar I bear, it is me,
Would I change what I had done?
...No...
I would not be me...
It is my story...it is me.