Beauty Mark

No filter.

Let anyone come.

Let anyone see.


Let them see feet,

worn and bruised from rugged roads and bumpy paths although they’d been walking down well-paved sidewalks their whole life.  


Let them see ankles,

bent in a permanent sprint, trying to get places.  Always moving, but not always forward.   Trying to catch up with—                   Time.


Let them see legs,

covered in bumps and colors that shine of clumsy endeavors, visible (and painful) memories of trial and error.


Let them see hands,

adorned with delicate fingers attuned to dancing ‘cross pianos, now clenched in ivory fists, grasping memories that slip like sand.  


Let them see arms,

wrapped close and tight, draped in fear of embrace despite yearning the sensation of touch and welcome.


Let them see shoulders,

sagging dangerously from invisible weight.  Always pointing to the sky, open and willing, but buried deep by gravity.


Let them see a mouth,

words tinting the edge of lips with a hopeful shade, but merely decoration, cocked slightly in eager anticipation of speech, never seeming to straighten out.


Let them see ears,

open and welcoming.  Eased by sweet melodies of family, of friends, of day and night, only tiring when nails on chalkboard pour from mouths of ignorance.  


Let them see eyes,

filled to the brim with past, present, and future.  Tinted with the shade of memories fading all too quickly, colored by the sight of now, and gleaming with the sparkle of future.


Let them see a person,

hindered by uncertainty, haunted by embarrassment, cloaked in concern, and bandaged together with hope.


At last, let them see the smile,

genuine and proud.  Almost like a blemish in a shroud of shyness and worry: a beauty mark, one of permanence and importance.


Let them see me.

No filter.


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