No one is making room,
or keeping space.
In hearts, I may have a place.
Much like a blemish has a face.
No one really wants me there.
Wonder where compassion went...
In hearts striving to be immaculate.
It seems my presence is an accident.
No one could ever understand.
Struggling to get rid of me.
In hearts that lack immunity
A disease is all I'll ever be.
No one can grasp my purpose here.
Although unwanted, I fill a void.
In hearts that seem to be annoyed.
Like a toxin, my love's deployed.
But, no one wants a blemish.
Depends on the blemish we're talkin' here. I personally find -scars- attractive. I know we're not talking literally here. But you are hardly a growth, if you -are- a blemish. Which I don't believe. Not for me anyways.
And now about the poem it's self. I like it. I really like the flow and feel of it. The wording is interesting and well strung together. I like the "Like a toxin my love's deployed" very nice.