The NY Literary Magazine

A Distinguished Selection of the Finest Modern Literature

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unloved poems

Scars by Beatrice Preti

And when I grew weary of all of the scars
I counted the scabbed bits littering my heart
And picked them off quickly,
so no one would see
All of the damage that
they’d done to me

But it hurt when I pulled,
and all the bits bled
It made my heart ache, and
it stained my hands red

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