thirty-seven

drag here
click there
push the button once
and twice.
history is deleted
and it's a part of
me i used to Respect.
but no more
no more.
no.
more.
because as i read
i see more than i want
to see.
i told you once
and i'll tell you again
i never, never, never measure up.
think what you
want
but the past
is a stitch-work of
scars, and no matter
how hard you try
to justify what
they look like from far
off, they're
still red and swollen.
tender and bruised
a type of skin
only made
to cover a broken
innocence.
i can't tell you
how many times
i've tried to paint
it over.
tried to seal it up.
tried to cover it with
a beautiful scarf or
make it tell
a different story.
if i play my cards right
you'll read the picture
and you'll tell me my
past and i can
Become
what you think of me.
then all these scars
will mean what
i want you to think they mean.
all the questions can
disappear
and all the hopes will look real.
and every time i ask
you who i am, i'll hear my truth.
condemning me.
restraining me.
pleading with me
to open these boxes
and let Him clean my wounds.
let Him heal. wipe away the
truth-picture that covers
the real-scars
and hand to Him my tired-heart,
wait to feel His true-love.
And be Myself again.