The thin scar
on my arm
is a sliver of white
amid a sea of
browning summer skin
From a time when
you were helping yourself feel better
turning hurt into anger
and I reached in
to protect you
but your fingernails got involved
my arms could tell many stories
and they hold many scars
but stories are easy to come by
even now you who are reading this,
is telling story about me
perhaps you have an opinion
about my scars,
perhaps you feel bad for me.
I used to tell myself that story
and many much like it
about the way things ought to be
or not be
that was before I really met Me.
I crossed another bridge from questions to breath.
Confusion to heart beats.
Struggle to sensation.
I am unstoried
I am free
I am unwounded
I am happy
I wouldn't have it any other way
I love deeply feeling the lines of sensation,
making space for noticing
letting go of rules and judgments
when I hold you
And Your face is bright red mad,
sweaty salty tears release
trying to avoid the sad
I know it hurts
I know you're scared
I know those stories well
And the Me who isn't small or fragile
the Me who understands
is enraptured with your beautiful angry face
There is no right, no wrong,
there is no better place.
I want all of this with you my love,
I wouldn't have it any other way.