Collectibles

What am I if not a collection of scars?

Of scrapes, wounds, and tissue. 

An encasement that has been battered and thrown against the wind.

All so that it would ease the pain felt by the soul within. 

Were we not taught to roll as we fall to lessen the breaks and bruises? 

Pin pricks that deposit ink in place of blood has become my solace.

Placing the story of my life on my skin

Sparing the soft flesh of the true self that guides this exterior facade. 

Marking it up so that it looks more like what I imagine is close to god.

Mapping the cartography that only exists in suffering.

Recreating the outline of the land so that it soothes it instead.

Finding joy in the life we lead because it is still ours to lead 

Admiring the roads and cavernous mountains crossed to have arrived in this new terrain 

Find the joy in what once was pain