I died July 15, 2016.
At least I thought I had when I laid down and
My consciousness floated away.
And who’s to say?
Maybe I died and death spat me out
Like spoiled milk.
Scars from emotions are ghosts,
No one can see them and
Only I can feel them.
From your point of view, I tried to commit suicide
From my perspective,
When I closed my eyes,
I was certain I’d never open them again.
The old me did indeed die that day,
And having died was free to live.
It would be almost a month before I realized the
Potential for joy I was given.
My scars represent many things —
Second chances —
But there is no shame in them.
My physical scars are here for all who care to look.
My emotional scars are here for all who care to listen.