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Morning unfolds me into 
its warm and accepting light.
I sweep my front porch, read to my boys, 
walk the dog. I let the breeze blow my hair
and rustle my skirt into fluid waves
exposing my beautiful scars.
I feel less vulnerable; sometimes, I forget. 
Long ago, I tried in vain to hide my scars,
like a forbidden love. I tried to neatly 
tuck them between my skin and bone 
in layers of mottled gray, let them
pulsate through my veins.

Morning unfolds more of me every day,
I rise to shed myself of limitations -
secrets, shame and a little girl
struggling to please everyone and yet no one.
Pill bottles, broken bottles, time frozen in a bottle,
I have spent too many years sweeping up the past.
I am free at last.

I tend to my scars, my beautiful scars,
most days like a blooming garden 
of daisies, lilies, and deep, red roses
that never die from memory
but wither in the cold of night.
My scars are my own, I carry them alone.
Long ago wishes whisper from a warzone, 
battles fueled by liquid fire 
I have cried, “Look at me!”
“See my beautiful scars?” 
“See my lovely garden?”
My scars remind me to bind
who I was to who I am
and who I’ll never be again.
My outstretched limbs, my resilient soul,
loosen, bend, and guide me.
I am learning to trust myself.
 
When it rains, I feel earth cleanse.
I feel like staying tucked in bed, but
I walk down the city streets,
waving at neighbors from under
my sky-blue colored umbrella. I am 
guarded, have always kept my heart 
sheltered. I weaken in self-preservation.
I struggle through my days but keep moving.
I wear my beautiful scars. I let the world 
unfold parts of me - to see, to feel, to step
one foot at a time with intent -
I hold my head up. I am bold but imperfect, 
wounded but mended, battered but restored.
I am not a cause or a riddle to solve.
You cannot fade my beautiful scars. 

I want to share it all, find solace in 
the company of someone who understands.
It is time for me to leave my sorrow,  
my fear, my moments when I long to 
disappear into a bruised and tearful grave.
If I dig up my grief, my sickness, my pain.
I may discover a light continues 
to shine from selfless stars at night. 
In light of day, most eyes ignore my pain.
Everyone has their troubles.
Everyone turns away.
No one wants to get too involved.
I am my own friend. I wait till the sun 
shines again, I cast my grief into the wind
where a flock of birds without 
a name graciously unburden me.
On a course to warmer skies,
we bond; they admire my beautiful scars.

I am beautiful, scars and all.
It takes strength to unfold in light of day
instead of hiding away.
I am awakening with my scars, 
I let them shine
like brilliant jewels worn in elegant
moonlight. When morning unfolds,
a new day born of sunlight, 
I know I’ll be alright for a time.

Why hide away, waste my days? 
I am fragmented but complete.
I am sensitive, I am spirited,
I am alive under my scars, 
my beautiful scars. 
I am a survivor.
I am scarred but not chained. 
I am my scars, but I am more.
The sun keeps shining down on me.

Tomorrow, morning will unfold me,
and I will live with my scars, 
forgive them all. I will be alive - 
dance, play, maybe even laugh; 
I’ll get through all the necessary 
chores of the day. I will feel the wind 
on my skin, learn from the past, look
in the mirror, unfold and touch 
my beautiful scars.


11/22/15
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