Poem produced in class from stimuli:



The scars of sorrow bear an extreme heat

The scars of sorrow bear an extreme heat
Tougher than normal skin
I’m proud of mine; they make me who I am,
And ashamed and keep them hidden.

Tell them my story? Who would want to hear it?
Has no wider meaning, unusual, too personal.
Nobody wants to think such things can happen,
And since it mostly won’t, remains my private grief.

Pump up my tires and get back on the bike of normality.
High on the pleasures of a day without pain.
The joy of turning off my own bedroom light,
Sitting in silence on the park bench, enjoying every moment.

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