Scars are memories made real.
I have many of these.
Every past thought,
Every remembered touch,
Half heard laugh,
Glinting crystal tear
Has drawn a breath of blood
Across the tapestry
The fragile weaving
That forms my life.

My soul weaving holds
My blessings and my doom
Both my light and dark,
My love-song and screaming pleas,
Begging for an end.
Each scar shows as
A delicate loving curse
Or a grey shadow
On the stark black and white.
Even as a quiet whisper
Behind the angel's song,
Deep inside the agonies.

On the face I show the world
My memories are pale lines,
Flowing with my veins.
My scarred flesh,
The vessel of my flawed soul
Bears living testament
To the memories that shape me
And hold me.
The past that I have seen,
That I have held
And lost
Cradles me now.

The memories stay with me
Under the scars and
Behind the pain.
The things that have been,
And the words long since unheard,
Make me,
Form me,
Sing me,
Are me.