Wednesday, November 2, 2016

Life In 14 Lines - 14

My scars have roots in other people’s gardens.
They wind like clinging vines through space and time,
Invuln’rable to weedings or to pardons
Each one the record of a loss or crime.

This one is where my trusting heart was broken.
This one is where I lost my innocence.
This one from words I never should have spoken.
This is the one that still—still—makes no sense.

And though the skin is dead, it’s still connected
To something in me that pain understands—
I shy away from what got me rejected;
I never reach for what once cut my hands—

Yet still I search for love that, like a seed,
Can grow through all those scars and make me bleed.

Copyright 2016 Matthew J Wells

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