February Poem 17/28
Notches
notches on my arms are not a reflection of who I've killed
but rather a story of where I am and where I have been
scratches from pets long lost
burns from dishes since savored
scars from times I've gotten past
bruises from fights that I still fondly remember
as i stop razing and rerazing the arable limb
bury my insecurities with the bones in the dirt
hair like grass grows back over the raised grounds
and flowers bloom on the grave like progress.
notches on my arms are not a reflection of who I've killed
but rather a story of where I am and where I've been.
Oblique Strategy of the day: Work at a different speed.