“Unwanted Souvenirs”

Old scars that scream to be seen. 

Feel their jagged ridges and seams,

They live in a house with no door,

Dormant for months or years-Suddenly,

 the nerve to reappear without so much as an invitation.

Uneven lines, able to trek seamlessly through time. 

Their demise is just a lie,

But getting by is what I do,

Pulling up off the ground when it looks like the end.

An ace of beginning again. 

My collection, quite the expanse.

Not for display, only a reminder of life that transpired. 

Each onslaught, ironically laying groundwork.

Vision is clarified when turned inside out. 

Unbidden, these brands in my heart have worn a niche,

In the house with no door. 

Share: