Thursday, September 6, 2012
I don’t remember much about that day,
Just broken movie clips haunting my mind,
The orange glow of the flames in the back seat,
My tumble out the door onto the pavement,
The two women with the kind eyes
Holding me on the tiled counter
Next to the sink pouring water
Over my charred skin.
But the scars, those have stayed with me.
As a child they were all I could see
Looking in my broken mirror,
The grotesque bubbling of my skin
From my chubby fingers
up my arm to my shoulder,
So sure that everyone else saw
The hideous beast lurking
In my mirror just as I did.
Scars, at least the visible kind,
Fade with the passing of time,
And today no one even notices
If they do not already know they are there.
It’s the invisible scars
From voluntary fires
That still persist.
~~~ This poem was written in response to a prompt from Poetry Jam asking us to think about a personal challenge we have faced. I’m also linking this up over at Poetic Asides for the prompt about memory.
~~~ Note: The image I used with this poem actually started out as one of my senior pictures, with much editing added.