Wounded…

I see you,
Warrioress,
even though
the broken pieces of my heart
won’t let me look into your blue eyes again

I promise you
I see you
You, who are a slayer of dragons
You, who has seen the sky fall
You, who has spoken with the things
that only whisper to me in the distance
You, who has been to the edge and looked over
You, who has died thousands of times
You, who has been to the underworld and returned
You, who needs neither shield nor armor
You, who stands here today, unabashed, in daylight and full view

What do I know of valor?
What do I know of strength?
What do I know of courage?

*this poem was inspired by someone I interacted with Monday. It has taken me almost a full week to process what I saw and for my heart to say something about it.

I went to a store to buy supplies for my job. The young woman behind the counter checking me out nodded and smiled one of those tight-lipped smiles.

I said, “Good morning.” and put my items on the counter.

When she reached into my field of view, I noticed something.

Her arms were covered in self-harm scars. Literally the entire surface from elbow to her wrists on both arms were covered top and bottom, all sides.

My heart plummeted.  And I found that, try as I desperately wanted to, I could not look back up into her face. But I kept watching her arms as she worked.

I knew if I made eye contact with her again, my heart was going to make itself shown on my face. And I didn’t want to make her uncomfortable.  It would be enough that I looked to be the socially awkward person here…and I was..so it wasn’t even like pretending.

I went about my day and I could not stop thinking about it. I still haven’t stopped.  There was so much I wanted to say about it. But I didn’t know how to voice it. My muse kept telling me I had to write about it…and I kept saying, “How can I do that? I don’t know the first thing about this…”

But today I managed to put something of it together and I hope I did right by her.

I am assuming A LOT by what I saw. I realize that. I could be completely wrong. Nothing would make he happier to find out I was wrong.

I want to be clear that I do not feel sorry for her, this is not pity. I was sad but not about her actions.  I was sad that I couldn’t do anything about it.

But I also keep trying to make myself understand that the fact she was out in the open and bearing her scars the way she did….maybe that means that she has found a way out. and I hope that is true. I truly do.

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About Eric

Writer/Plumber/Poet/Father/Gentleman/Romantic
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