Scars

 

“Show me your scars,”
I whisper to lovers.
The soft indent on bone,
crosshatch of mended flesh.
Evidence of injury sustained and survived.

I am suspicious of scar-less people.
Their round white bellies frighten me
speaking of too much safety,
too little sun.

But, I’ve been known to fall in love
with a crooked smile
a twisted morality.
I’ve been known to wrap my health around
a deformed ego
a shattered self esteem.
Spent a year
while the tip of my tongue
traced
the pattern
pain leaves on skin.

“I’ll learn from your scars,”
I promise my lovers.
The tender places
broken and healed.

 

Originally published in 2012

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