made of scars

Up close and very personal

Running my fingertips across skin

Tracing over imperfect circles

Crooked lines and

Historical context

Asking questions without words

And feeling my way through

All the things you want me to know

But don’t have the words to say

I too have a roadmap of memories

Mostly painful

Some self inflicted

Others forced upon me by my own error in judgement

Like a missing tooth

Or a hatchet to the face

Either way you slice it

Humans are funny in how some show love

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