Post - it

Scar

How is it like to be a scar?

To be that laceration on a person,

That newborn slice, flesh wound or deep?

Did you do it to kill?

Or was it just a poor poor accident,

A mistake on your part,

Or on theirs?

Tell me how it feels to flush red,

Then to clot brown and collect pus,

To peel off with time and sun.

Do you ever wonder

Whether you are that type of scar –

Shown off to spite the memory of you,

A sign of strength to its owner?

Or maybe you are hidden,

Socked over, turtle-necked, longsleeved,

Foundationed upon;

Hush hush now, I'm ashamed of you.

Maybe.

Pardon my rudeness,

But I honestly don't know

Which is worse for you.

Worse for me, worse for everyone.

We all partake in this gifting and taking of hurt.