there's a scar
on my lower back.
six years later,
and i still don't know
where it came from.

if scars were beautiful,
then i would be an artwork.
i would be the praised murals,
of new york city,
skyscrapers,
and painted oils
my scars —
they're hidden
in places no one
would think to look.

maybe there aren't as many
as there used to be.
but i can still feel then
clinging to my skin
like dirt.
only,
scars don't wash off
so easily.