THE SCARS
Let me tell you
About the little patches
Of brown and red
That you see,
Scattered across my soul.
You cringe.
Many do : others look away.
They are ugly – those patches,
Interspersed with the white parts of my soul.
I wear them like a badge.
For they tell me how I broke
Into smithereens
And lay scattered
Like acerbic words
Strewn randomly.
They tell me
How my breath kept flowing
Even in the dark.
Did I tell you about spirits that never die?
Let my healed wounds speak.
Leave a Reply
You must be logged in to post a comment.