I Love my Scar (Why I Write Poem)

I write

for the endearment of a scar

laced like a jewel on my hand

coiled along the wrinkle of my fourth finger’s  

knuckle.


My nail curves like the swift tides

at the shore facing the naked windows of my home

at the home where the room resides

where the desk and notebook lay

patient for the blistered hand

of that arched nail.


If the hand

my right hand

were a model

the disfigurement would be as obvious

as blistering, puckering acne

shadowing the face like

the Luna during an eclipse.


But my hand is not a model.

It is my right hand man

my literal right hand

whose tool had been calloused along the

tip of its screw.


It was used

like rusted trophies

and toys you could not lose.

Like classical music

and your favorite show’s tune.


I love my scar

for I write in favor

Instead of despite

its perfect irregular figure

dancing along the graphite lines.


It reminds me of the years I placed

Here.

With a pencil.

At the keyboard.

On my dream.

Image: https://ravenclawreign.tumblr.com/post/170563947748

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