My scars are footprints
pressed in the smooth sand, fading,
salted by the tears of the ocean,
but persistent against the tide.
My map has been drawn
by leaves in the wind, blowing,
following the path of the broken,
but offering no place to hide.
My heart plays a song
with a slow tempo, beating,
calling to the strong souls still hoping,
but unheard by the ones who died.
Follow the footprints if you trace my skin.
Use my map as a guide if I can't let you in.
Listen to my song if words aren't my friend.
And I will love you,
With all that I have left.