Look! I'm streaking!

I love writing poetry; however, I don't practice it enough. I tend to experience spurts with poems. When I do go on a creative streak, though, it's usually a good one. I can pump out a few of them--especially when duly inspired.

For some reason, the following poem, which I wrote two years ago or so, came to my mind recently.

Scar Tissue

I have a lot of scars.
Some big, some small--
Each tells a bit of my story;
None tells it all.
The short ones may mean
More than the long;
A narrow gash a riddle--
Maybe a wide gouge a song.
The pain endured leaves a trail on the skin:
One sings of victory;
Another whispers a sin.


I keep seeing people and wondering what all is really underneath. What pain? What baggage? What dreams? What story? There may be a lot holding it back, but there it is---just beneath the surface. Scar tissue, of sorts.

Maybe it's easier not to talk about "it," whatever it is. We are the great pretenders, aren't we? Going along to get along. Making nice so that we can get through the holidays. Smile and nod, smile and nod.

However, I think this not-so-hidden junk shows up in ways we never intend. It affects our conversations, our friendships, our health.

I don't know where I am going with this, but I do hope that we all review our scars from time to time: reminding us where we've been, what we've been through, what's it made us, and who we still want to be. And, that, most of all, we allow trusted others access to our scars. To educate, to warn, to understand, to be understood.