Scabs to Scar

There's a scab on her knee,
just like her heart.
She's said when she's broken
she's like a work of art:
From every angle there
is a new perspective,
a catacomb of reasoning,
the chosen elective.

She pokes at the wound
and it will bleed fresh.
But she knows underneath,
there is fresh, new flesh.

But she doesn't want feeling,
not for this cut.
He called her a cunt,
and he called her a slut.

She wants it to scar,
and never bleed again.
So she can move on,
without the need to pretend
that anything less is
more than acceptable
when she herself tries
to be something respectable.

So she picks at her wounds,
until they are scars with no nerves.
To lose feeling for that one
is what she deserves.