The Language of Scars
Everything speaks if you know how to listen.
My scar tissue speaks
in bated breaths
like a whisper
caught in the back of your throat.
A voice crack
lets their crimson language
bleed out.
In just an inch
a story web is woven
about how much
I used to hate myself.
Another couple inches
tells you about my job history,
ways I've sweat for the man,
what parts of my body
I'm willing to risk for money.
Patterns on my stomach and hips
scream as loud as I once did
staring into a mirror
from a hospital bed.
They shout,
"I am a portal to the intangible!"
While I may ink myself
as an attempt
to tell the story of my life
in picture form,
it's the marks we didn't choose,
the ones who chose
to write their stories on us
that seem to have more to say.
My body carries hieroglyphs
that can only be deciphered
through experience.
About the Creator
Lolly Vieira
Welcome to my writing page where I make sense of all the facets of myself.
I'm an artist of many mediums and strive to know and do better every day.
https://linktr.ee/lollyslittlelovelies
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