Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Apr 2019
Fascinating, isn’t it
How we damage ourselves
Yet our bodies renew, replace fibres
Still functional but not the same as before
Perhaps to remind us that we are not indestructible

I have scars

A perfectly distributed one along my spine
Reminds me of the swing my grandpa built,
And how I fell from it on the concrete the day he was buried.
He is gone, but the scar that I got from the swing he built, it is not.

One on my arm, hidden beneath a tattoo,
A reminder, that my cat Molly does not like vacuums.
She only had to let me know this once,
But I remember it always.

My left leg depicts very faintly what was once the topic on every passer-by’s lips
‘She was in a motorbike accident’.
But you see; now I know that braking on a loose patch of gravel will in fact, not slow you down,
But have quite the opposite effect.
I don’t know much about physics, but I know this.

Both of my thighs, once sliced open just like a knife to flesh
As ****** up as I was, the alcohol wouldn’t numb this one,
Throbbing, burning, gushing blood as I swam for eternity back to shore
But I still remember the view of the sunrise from that rock, the perfect front row seat
I also still remember that rock, and it’s perfectly jagged edges.

On my wrist, a small bump
Riding waves is fun but I now always keep in mind that we share our ocean,
I’m sure my jelly-fish encounter was as unpleasant for him as it was for me,
And despite being wrapped in foam from my neck to my ankles,
He sure was tactical, and I live to tell his tale

I have scars

But some of them you can’t see
All of them have a story,
A lesson,
A memory.
All of them are me.
Dshamilja Sturm
Written by
Dshamilja Sturm  24/F/Florida
(24/F/Florida)   
284
 
Please log in to view and add comments on poems