Thursday, June 26, 2014

Work in Progress Me

I see me. There are two kinds. The ones who do; and the ones that don’t understand. I’ve never met another one who said they wanted to but didn’t have the courage. I have them, tattoos, sort of, they’re scars on the inside places. Tours I’ve been on and the feelings I’ve had.

I grew up on a hobby farm, my sister and I got many scars from falling off horses, rolling down stairs and running into stray nails. The cut I have from putting my hand through 100 year old window is gone. But I remember.

I have a new scar that I got from holding my cat to make sure when she panicked she didn’t dart out in the road, it’s not healing, I’m older now and the flesh just doesn’t  clear like it used to.

There’s a new boy in town, wants everyone to go say hi. We all remember the last one, and are skeptical, want to give it time, see the real him come out.

There goes another poster on Facebook of liking people with tattoos, but what about us women with scars.

Like the ocean, diving in where it’s too shallow and cutting yourself on the rock. Like following your intuition and having a cut on your heart. Like not being able to breathe under the water, like feeling the tears in your heart flood your lungs

I don’t really have a tattoo, Got a couple of scars, where I was touched, my heart, and then he walked away, so I’m not in a hurry To say hi to another.

There’s a dream in my heart, the kind that left a tattoo. I dreamed I was his bride a handsome man I’d never seen before. And then I met him a few weeks later, he had no idea I dreamed of him, and so he waved and walked by.

Can you like a girl, whose heart as been broken scared tattooed by broken dreams of love and success? Or do you have to see it physically painted there for everyone else to see to?

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