To Wear Our Scars?


There is a scar
that covers about three inches of skin
on soft tissue,
just above your breast,
it runs a jagged line
it reminds me of a flower vine
creeping up your neck,
faded in time
a silver tattoo left,

Does it feel different on the tongue?
I run my lips across the serrated point
Quickening with every lick,
Each mark holds a depth untold
I feel a beating pulse within –
more than just a hollow organ;
a heart of its own
flowing in feelings.

This scar that is visible
carried upon your chest
weighing too heavy
for you to undress
like a photograph –
a moment never forgotten.
A permanent welt.
A visible form.

If the scar wasn’t there to remind you?
Could you forget it?


It’s been on my mind –the idea of a scar. We all have scars. Some are visible, some hidden and those buried so deeply, that we are ourselves are shocked to find they are there.

Does wearing our scars in different ways affect our-self?
Do we carry them for everyone to see?
Or hide them so deeply, that we forgot them, for a time.

Because even if we bury our burdens, they have a way of resurfacing.
Is it better to wear our scars?



Left Desolate In The Wake


All that ever was,

Everything that passed,

Between the two,

Left desolate,

In the wake,

Of the person who lay between,

Her face carved,

Into eyes,

Broke their minds,

No escaping what has become,

The past can not be undone,

A moment,

A scar,

Penetrates skin,

Blackens and disconnects,

Etched in their hearts,

A skeleton to keep below,

To conceal,

Buried deep below,

Broken hearts veiled.