#14 Scars

I vividly remember the first one I got on my head,

Coming back from kindergarten, as I fell face down

A four-year-old flying across the home playground.

While I don’t remember the blood and pain,

I do remember sharing the tale over and over again

As I sat in class with my buddies all around,

Wearing the iodine-stained cotton - 

Less like a bandage, more like a crown,

Being applauded like a brave warrior by my friends.

As they admired the scar peeping out where my hairline ends.

Over the years, the wound has healed, 

those friendships didn’t last

But that scar, it’s still lies there, a dead remnant of that past.

Instead of narrating the tale, I try to cover it now.

Over time, pride has transformed to embarrassment somehow.

And that’s true for all the the other scars my body holds

They might be hoping that their stories get told

But all I do is silence them all the time

With flowing clothes,

Or any overly cheerful, “of course, I’m fine!”

Only to sometimes peek at them in the darkness of the night

For each of them feels like a terribly ugly sight

A painful reminder to the times the other didn’t care

Or of times when I did dare

To take a leap of faith, certain I would fly

Only to come crashing down,

my fall broken by those dreams lying on the ground.

Over time, these scars have become strong boundary lines

Unyielding, ruthlessly, separating your pain from mine.

Somehow each one convinced that we are the only ones that are broken

While the cry for help, for connection remain unspoken.

Each day, I engage in this charade of normalcy

Trying to convince my bruised heart to hold on to this fallacy

But the heart, seems to want to break out from this bind

Desperately hoping that someday we will find

The courage to uncover these scars and tell their tales

Ready at last to push back those veils

And fully see each other –

as both bruised, and brave.