where the writers are
Within These Lines
my time

Within these lines

 

These etchings upon my skin

 

Lives a record of me

A testimony

Of who I am

 

Finite channels

 

Sacred seams

 

Revealing

 

The births

The hurts

The conversations

And the worries

 

By the lines 

Beside my eyes

 

Within the creases of my smile

 

Lives my life

My story

 

My worth

 

I dont need a book 

to tell you

Where I've been

Its written

Within my skin

 

They help me to remember

 

The roads I have traveled

 

Breathe in every minute outline

 

Upon my face

 

Reminders 

of my childhoods

 

The moments I've tucked away

 

They tell me of my mistakes

The beds I have made

 

Symbolize my triumphs

Sing my heartaches

 

These traces 

 

Of who I came to be

 

Speak

Loudly

 

Sometimes 

too boisterously

 

But they take me back to moments

I'd rather not forget

 

The passages 

of my time well spent

 

My faith

My anger

My lovers

My dreams

My chase

 

Live

Prominently

In the folds

Of my softened skin

 

I tried to hide my 

Birthmarks 

 

I call them my echos of existence 

 

Cowered to those

Too scared of growing wise

 

I patted and applied

Fancy names to deny

 

My life and my time

 

I spent years crying

At the sight of my trials

 

Only to let go

 

And smile at the memories

I found 

 

Its not the imprints 

upon my face

 

That make me feel my fate on this plane

 

Its the narrative of my being

I once refused to claim

 

I look at this painting 

 

upon my skin

And wonder where I have been

Only to see the times I spent

Living them

 

Not always bad

Never with regret

Touching happiness

Now and again

 

These softened edges 

Talk to me

Reciting all my journeys

 

They are my storytellers

Announcing that I have lived 

 

These lines are my echos

 

My narrative of life

Well spent