You Show Me Yours

When I was a kid
I wanted
A scar.

It would be
A purple slice
Extending from eye
To chin.

I would say
It was a saber slash
From a battle
Brilliantly fought
Nobley won.

Back in the day
Scars were cool.
They were autobiography.

But like the Apostle
When I became a man
I put away childish things.

These days
I make great effort
To hide my scars.
They hurt.
They are butcher marks
Unglamorous
From stories in which
I am the loser.

I don’t want you to see them.
They betray my secrets
Expose my weakness.

Most are invisible
Nevertheless real.
They crisscross my heart
The way the foreman’s whip
Rends the flesh of the field slave.

You’ll never see my scars.
I’ll never show you.

Unless you have scars too.

Tell you what…
You show me yours
I’ll show you mine.