Scars & Lipstick

Scars and Lipstick


This is a wonder;
This subtle rhythm
Beating as a fat
Bumble bee’s wings.
Freshly steamed, I stand
Mostly unharmed—
The scars have faded.
Tears, pokes, and prods
At one point blessed this body,
Before I was myself.
An alien held a mask,
Which I tore upon and bit.
Gnawed like a trapped animal
Knowing only its destined slaughter.
I was only saved through
The desperate gropes
Of her animalistic nature.

Here I am;
Unimpressive—I know,
Unnatural proportions—
Extra things
I wish I never had.
But, I can look
Now, upon myself
Without a tear slipping
Its way through the leather.

The face, I once
Had loathed,
Has softened.
I can swipe a manicured hand,
Across this foggy mirror,
And not struggle to fight
Her desperate attempt at tossing
Myself against the glass
Till the shards bite deep enough
For this costume to give,
Sliding our peeling flesh
Into these rusty pipes.

There, my eye,
So gentle it appears;
Reflective of the good,
Which I had hidden.
No more will I cower.
She shines in the center;
A delicate fire tending
To the needs of the soul.
Is this what it means
To feel my heart beat,
And not wish it to cease?

This feeling so small—
Delicate and easy for
Others to crush and mangle.
Remember. Remember
The price we paid,
And the skin we scarred,
Scaling this slope.

I wiggle my hips;
I smile.


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