They say scars are ugly.
They tell us to cover it up as if it's shameful to have one.
But scars are proof that we overcame a battle,
And though we had been wounded,
We survived.

The stories behind scars proved that
We did not stay in ruins after chaos.
We got up and started to build an upgraded version of ourselves.
And those scars are reminders that
We can grow stronger throughout our journey.

Each scar deserves a place in this life.
So we can look back at it
As if one looks at a masterpiece displayed in the finest museum.

We all leave things behind
Whether it's a handprint on a window.
The memory of a kiss on one's lips.
Or a memory.

Everyone's always around whether they're there or they're not.
They've left their handprint on me, on my heart and it will not fade away as easily as a mark on my window.
I hope it gets blown away by the wind.
Off the surface of earth itself.
Only a mere memory that will fade over time

And when I think it's gone, it reappears.
Colliding with me like a thousand volts of electricity.
There's nothing I can do to stop it.
I must let it course through me.
Touch every inch of my skin, glide every crevasse, fill every hole.
Till I can no longer speak.
Till it's pulling at my vocal cords preventing me from screaming.
Screaming everything I feel inside.
From the anger, to the sadness, to the loneliness.

I hear only gasps of air escape me.
Hoping that I am only swimming on a warm summer day and that I'll make it to the surface to take that long awaiting breath of air.
But I can't.
Because instead of swimming up, I am only getting pulled down.
Like a puppet being controlled by its master.
Only one can control the strings.

After a while, I look up towards the new hope awaiting me and wonder;
"Is it all worth it?"
"Will I end up in the same place?"
The same dark lonely hole that I've landed myself in?

They tell you there's so much to look forward to.
And I wonder for a second if it might be true.
But then I remember, I will never be in control of my fate.
Because I am a mere puppet attached to strings waiting for the show called Life to start.

I wish we could
catch a raindrop
with our hands
Hydrate a 3 a.m.
conversation about how
the First Agreement
either does
or doesn't
keep us honest
about the way
we look at
each other.

At 3:13 a.m. I tell a
story about my
favorite agate
I found when
I was 13.

By now it's
pouring outside
and a bolt
of thunder
snaps me out
of my haze.

Laying on my pillow
I remember
I need
the clouds because
I live
in a storm,
and right now
you're the calm
before, during, and after.

Your voice is the one
I hear over the
whirl of the wind,
the one I feel
after waking up
in a pool of
my own sweat,
the one I see
even through the
distance of feeling
alone.

So talk to me
before, during,
and after
the storms
of our lifetime,
and we can share
what we find
together
in the aftermath.

I'm done for the day
What else can I say
I no longer want to play
Emotions starting to sway
My mask flew away

Leave me alone
I just want to go home
There's nowhere to roam
I'm turning off my phone
Gonna Lie down tired bones

I'm done for the day
Thoughts in disarray
They never obey
It's a feeling of dismay
Being life's proverbial prey

©Pauline Russell