A TRIBUTE TO JADA
Here I present SCARS by Jada Carrington, a dedication to me :
Scars (Dedication to Kenidra Woods)
By: Jada Carrington
Mirror, mirror on the wall, who's the strongest of them all?
I used to think I was invincible, limitless and all knowing and no one could tell me otherwise,
I was young and naive, but I was so innocent,
hand made by God, sweet and valuable much like the fruit in the garden of Eden.
See I was special, my essence held all the secrets to the world, I was forbidden fruit,
beautiful but not meant for consumption.
God said the harvest was plentiful and that you could eat from any other tree,
and yet you still managed to let your serpent deceive you.
You ate from my tree of knowledge,
You made me conscious of my body before it even had a chance to develop.
Now I'm cursed with sinful thoughts and I don't know how to get rid of them.
You brought hell into my life and now even my angels have pitchforks,
I guess that's why bad things always felt so good. I miss being an angel.
I wish I could go back to when playing with dolls was my life,
everything was pretend and no one had any ulterior motives,
but sadly I can't, this is reality and my life is not a game.
Why didn't anyone tell me that grown men aren't supposed to play with little girls that way?
I thought everybody played like that. I trusted you.
You were supposed to protect me from all the big bad wolves like the ones we used to read
about, not become one. Little girls are not meant to be prey,
and I keep praying for my happy ever after ending but I'm getting tired,
my mouth has already been going a thousand miles per hour,
and I've ran out of words.
Written in scars are the stories I could never explain.
Every scar had a novel on its tongue and it was razor blade sharp,
just like the blades I became very familiar with.
Is it wrong that I have more slashes on my body than years I have on this earth?
Am I wrong for thinking that the only way to ease my pain is to enhance it?
....I AM
You made me conscious of my body before it even had a chance to develop.
Now I'm cursed with sinful thoughts and I don't know how to get rid of them.
You brought hell into my life and now even my angels have pitchforks,
I guess that's why bad things always felt so good. I miss being an angel.
I wish I could go back to when playing with dolls was my life,
everything was pretend and no one had any ulterior motives,
but sadly I can't, this is reality and my life is not a game.
Why didn't anyone tell me that grown men aren't supposed to play with little girls that way?
I thought everybody played like that. I trusted you.
You were supposed to protect me from all the big bad wolves like the ones we used to read
about, not become one. Little girls are not meant to be prey,
and I keep praying for my happy ever after ending but I'm getting tired,
my mouth has already been going a thousand miles per hour,
and I've ran out of words.
Written in scars are the stories I could never explain.
Every scar had a novel on its tongue and it was razor blade sharp,
just like the blades I became very familiar with.
Is it wrong that I have more slashes on my body than years I have on this earth?
Am I wrong for thinking that the only way to ease my pain is to enhance it?
They say the truth cuts deep, well I must be the most honest person on this planet.
Some days I don't even want to be on this planet
but I know that there's people depending on me so I stay,
but isn't it crazy, the same rope I use to help pull you out of your hell
is the same rope I want to wrap around my neck to end mine.
Depression is so two faced, helped me to find my purpose
but keeps trying to stop me from living in it.
Some days I don't even want to be on this planet
but I know that there's people depending on me so I stay,
but isn't it crazy, the same rope I use to help pull you out of your hell
is the same rope I want to wrap around my neck to end mine.
Depression is so two faced, helped me to find my purpose
but keeps trying to stop me from living in it.
It took over my life, so I tried to take my own, a few times.
What's the point of staying alive when you're already spiritually dead?
What's the point of staying alive when you're already spiritually dead?
I swear having a mental illness sucks.
Some days it feels like there's a fire inside my mind and there's nobody to come to my rescue,
other days it feels like I'm drowning in water and there's no one to pull me out,
and then there's those days where the fire and the water inside of my head just cancels each
other out and I feel nothing at all.
I guess I have to play with the cards I was dealt even if it's the game of solitary.
I may be alone but at least I hold all the cards
and even though I've taken so many loses, I'm not going to stop playing until I win.
I am a winner, God made me that way.
So yeah I may get sad sometimes but that does not define me.
I may feel alone sometimes but that does not define me.
I may have a mental illness but that does not define me either.
What defines me is that I am still here even though the odds are against me,
what defines me is that I refuse to give up
and everything that I have overcome in my life is what makes me a warrior
and so when I look in the mirror and look at all my scars both mental and physical
where I once saw shame and defeat,
I now see power, I see accomplishment and I see a story that is worth sharing to the whole entire world.
Mirror, mirror on the wall, who's the strongest of them all?
Some days it feels like there's a fire inside my mind and there's nobody to come to my rescue,
other days it feels like I'm drowning in water and there's no one to pull me out,
and then there's those days where the fire and the water inside of my head just cancels each
other out and I feel nothing at all.
I guess I have to play with the cards I was dealt even if it's the game of solitary.
I may be alone but at least I hold all the cards
and even though I've taken so many loses, I'm not going to stop playing until I win.
I am a winner, God made me that way.
So yeah I may get sad sometimes but that does not define me.
I may feel alone sometimes but that does not define me.
I may have a mental illness but that does not define me either.
What defines me is that I am still here even though the odds are against me,
what defines me is that I refuse to give up
and everything that I have overcome in my life is what makes me a warrior
and so when I look in the mirror and look at all my scars both mental and physical
where I once saw shame and defeat,
I now see power, I see accomplishment and I see a story that is worth sharing to the whole entire world.
Mirror, mirror on the wall, who's the strongest of them all?
....I AM
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