Seamless

I look at these scars

and think, uncritically

live with love, or do without

none of these

were caused

by anyone

only by carrying on, and caring about

I stabbed myself with scissors when I was little

and have stitch-slashes across my middle

and at the temple a small, raised gash

looking in the mirror in confusion

as to which side it happened on,

Good or Evil?

I still have callous marks on the left

from flailing on the violin

and from squeezing the life

out of my pencil on the right

in pursuit of... I'm not sure what?

little pieces of hearts, always

to make whole again

maybe more fully loveable

maybe only to oneself

trying not to take anything

from anybody,

like it might be theft

I've refused everything,

even advice freely given

and I'd wish for all of us

a skin blameless, and smoothly healing