The Scars

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.