Scars of the Past

There are white lines on my arms, signifying a rough past that I’ve afflicted upon myself. There is nothing I can do to take the scars away. They cling onto my arms, like leeches. However hard I try to brush them away, they will never leave.

Sound: Waves of words of the past comes to haunt me. I swat at them like annoying flies. The beast that is dead within me scratches underneath the skin, giving it the sound of a swarm of bugs trying to break out. It sounds like sighing after a good and hard cry. Now that the bugs have broken out, there will be no more bugs underneath.

Smell: It smells like old dried blood stuck in a rag, forgotten and unwashable. Old rotten life stuck on my back. The scent of this corpse falls behind me, clinging to every blade of grass, trying to quench life wherever it goes.

Taste: My mouth was once filled with bitterness of hate, rejection and loneliness, flashbacks to the past bursts in my mind every time I taste them. Tears fall into my mouth, salty and sweaty. Fresh air that rolls over my tongue brings a breath of oldness, rid of bitterness.

Sight: These lines were once beaded with deep red, which eventually builds up and let a drop fall at a time. Now the lines are white, washed clean with blood. They are there to show to all, but yet hidden.

Touch/Feel: Anger, resentment and sorrow ravages me from time to time. It is only but my past. Throwing away the savage beast within me, I feel accepted, despite the ugliness that is present. My heart was once torn apart, shredded to parts, but now is complete, like it was never shred before. There is no touch less tender than having a second chance at life.

I know it is all behind me, keeping my eyes forward, remembering that I was given a second chance. There is nothing I will want to take the scars away. They are reminders to me. I gladly share the scars with Jesus. These arms were ravaged by sin, but washed clean by His blood.

As Sweet As Roses, But Doesn't Smell Like Cinnamon

I wrote something in an attempt for an assignment, but it ended up being something else than I wanted for the assignment. I decided to do something else, and I knew I had to share this. Hope you all enjoy it.

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Sweet as Roses, But Doesn't Smell Like Cinnamon

When you are with the one you’ve fallen in love with, you can’t help but to feel like you are on cloud 9. You get excited to see him, and when you don’t get to see him for a little while, you miss him terribly.

First you see lights sparkle all around your eyes, around the one you’re falling in love with. You take in his features, his smile, and the sparkle in his eyes when he looks at you. Your heart skips a beat.

Then you are overwhelmed with scent of him, which smells like a man who is head over heel, madly in love with you. You let that smell waver over your sight of him. You cling onto that scent, wanting it to linger around your nose just a little longer.

You cannot help but want to kiss him, his lips inviting you into his soul. You resist, but you know you will eventually fall and give into it and tasting him, tasting the experience of falling in love over and over, which washes anew over you every day.

He is your best friend, you hear him better every day. To hear his genuine laugh puts a flutter in your heart, knowing that you make him happy. His words give you the sound of his soul.

His hand on your back which protects you constantly gives you a sense of security. His hugs feel comforting and you know you can just relax and let go as he holds you.

You are comfortable with the one you’ve fallen in love with. You know you will be seeing him again soon enough. Though “soon enough” couldn’t have come faster, you do wish it does. You are still excited to be the one he loves. You know that you are the one he wants to be with always.