Scars (day 88)

When I sweat my scars until they run off my chest like a landslide,

paint them on a canvas in galaxy colors,

they look an awful lot like magic.

 

That is, until I can’t paint them anymore

because they’re sewed like boulders to my flesh

and I can’t loosen the fist clenched around everyone and everything I’ve ever left behind.

 

How I walk is how you watch me,

the words I speak are unapologetic,

I’m not trying to hold on by the curve of my standout speech,

I’m just a lantern at the edge of the sky.

 

What I mean is maybe loneliness is exactly what makes me dance in a crowd on a blazing summer night,

even when my heart is freezing from the inside out

and my hands are burning up with everyone they haven’t held.

 

I believe promises are together

and together is alone

and alone is drowning in a flood of your own unreached finish lines.

 

But I love my scars,

scratched like sandpaper,

throbbing to the rhythm of love lose lost,

falling to the ground in a dust storm only I can see.

 

There’s a certain beauty to be found in bruises, but only if you’re looking from the right angle, with the perfect amount of darkness in your vision.

 

My scars look a lot like learning when you hold them up to the light.

Author's Notes/Comments: 

Written 10/23/16

Sandpaper

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allets's picture

"...a lantern on the edge of the sky..."

a purely surrealist line - enjoyed reading 2x ~ ~A~


...a