Scars

I read something today. It cut me. It reminded me of an injury of my own - moments long past and wounds not yet healed... This is what I had written about it all those years ago:

To he who scarred my soul, I write this poem.
The one who took a heart of gold and tarnished it to reach his own goal;
The one who borrowed and stole pieces of an identity that wasn't his own;
And patched a disguise that he wore as a robe to add credibility to the lies he told.
To he who scarred my soul, who thinks that I do not know;
That the colours he in time disclosed were the same hue and tone as a heart of stone;
And all the times I was made to feel alone, were manifestations of an emptiness of his own.
A desperate man, out of control. Needing to break me down, just for him to feel whole.
To he who scarred my soul, and left me reeling from the blow.
Who tried to turn this queen into a ho, prostituting my pride for just the chance to be in his zone.
I was a fiend and he was my dope; sprung off the way he made me moan.
The one who had me trapped in a primal hold, feeding off a need I rarely ever showed.
To he who scarred my soul; who took a bud as it was about to grow,
So he could stifle its beauty, thinking it would never know; thinking it had nowhere else to go.
And for longest of times, I travelled his road - in agony as I dutifully carried his load.
But now this bud wants to be a rose, and now he'll reap the harvests of what he sowed.
To he who scarred my soul, your sins will be revisited upon you tenfold.
Hel hath no fury - you know it, you've been told, and soon you'll regret ever having been so bold,
As to ignore a truth that is that old, and think that you could go on living by your own code;
To assume that, for you, the rules would be froze, that your devious ways would go unexposed.
To he who scarred my soul, to he for whom the bell now tolls,
The time approaches when you must stand without cloth or robe, wearing nothing but the lies you've told.
When you must account for your turns along the road, and for how you've used this life that you've been loaned.
And by that time, my testimony will be known; and by your deeds, your fate will be cast in stone.
To he who scarred my soul, who left me in the dark and cold.
The one who had my heart as his home, and then tore it apart as if it was his to own.
There are pieces of me that you grabbed and stole - pieces that I'll never get back I suppose.
But one thing that I know is mine alone, is the power I've gained now that I'm in control.
So to he who scarred my soul, there's one thing you must know;
You may've made me bend, but you could never make me fold; That's one victory that I'll always hold.
Wounds heal and so will the one you left in my soul, though I may carry the scar until I'm old.
And for all that time I'll live in hope, that some good will finally come from this mark on my soul.