Scars
I wanted to know the scars on your arms
Where blade met skin
I wanted to feel every healed incision that still bleed like an open wound
Where you wrote her name in straight lines
I wanted to be shown every scar, every mark of pain and an unrecognizable depression
Where you used your skin as a therapy session
I wanted to open my chest and show you mine
Where people put their hands, and then tore them away just in time because I almost learned to trust
I wanted to show you the handprints
Where I kept every incision I almost made
I wanted to show you where I placed a point to end my sentence
Where all the healing took place with that single phone call
I wanted to show you the scars that didn’t need to be covered by long sleeves
Where they were covered by thick skin
The place I could let you in and we could open our scars again and cry to the sky in new mourning
But the day came and there was no room for a new handprint
