There is something ugly inside of me,
That I have attempted to keep at bay,
Since I had my son.
Some days it doesn’t work.
There are some days where I can’t think,
Where I feel entirely too much.
The old scars still sting,
By just looking at them.
It used to be that I was frightened,
That he would see those scars and then,
He would get scared. He would try
To run away, or shield his eyes.
The truth of the matter is,
He looks at me and accepts,
Everything. Like it is his gospel.
And that makes me even more neurotic.