How To Disappear Completely
I got a scar, I got a bruise,
from the restaurant race.
It’s purple-blue, but I wish it was gold,
a lightning bolt between my two eyes.
It bleeds, on occasion, on rainy days more
frequently, and the blood rushes to my eyes,
causing my eyes to shutter like blinkers.
I often miss the good things because of it.
Some say the scar gives me character,
the way it seems to wink at others,
understanding their troubles and woes
while simultaneously looking and striving forward.
I’ve gotten use to it, I guess, shrugging my
way and closing my eyes when applicable;
let the damn thing speak for itself.
People ask about it, all the time, more than
they ask about me and I can’t help but smile.
It’s my scar and I’ll never get rid of it.
No comments:
Post a Comment