My scars sense the raw pain that you feel.
Although my wounds stitched themselves together,
They left faint traces that narrate the pain of the past
For those who draw close enough and look closely.
The scars remember the deep ache that discolored the skin.
Yet, deeper than physical wounds are the ones on the heart
The penetrating cuts of shattered hopes that pierce the soul.
The dreams of the past and the promise of the present
All turn to ash in the white-hot furnace of the abuse.
Sometimes the strong walls of home can’t keep the wolves outside the door
To survive in the midst of wolves you become a monster that they fear.
Yet, your own teeth began to terrify those whose embrace you desire.
You stare in disbelief at the scared, scarred animal you’ve become.
Your wounds learned to wound, tooth for tooth, claw for claw
But the wolves are quick and cunning and often just out of reach
And those who share your sanctuary may find themselves bleeding.
The pain can heal, if you can find a sanctuary from the wolves.
God knows, that isn’t easy, for they do love their hunt.
The wounds of body, spirit, soul and mind can slowly heal,
But you will bear the marks of this within you for your life.
Some nights the deep ache will reawaken in your nightmares.
You may still see the animalistic fear in the mirror long after the danger is gone.
Yet, in scars there can be the gift of seeing the pain that others ignore
Of feeling what others cannot feel, and of helping bind the wounds.
Helping one more human return to the world of humanity.
To rebuild the safety and security of the home that protects their beloved ones.
And perhaps, in a small way, helping heal the wound of the world
One scarred sister or one broken brother at a time.