The Nature of Scars

A Poem by beautifulblade

3/13/15

Finish lines were never things
I reached for,
hiding behind mile markers
and my mother's smile,
cradling her broken will
in my piggy bank,
like I could keep it safe
until it was strong enough
on its own;
like her fractured dreams
could grow wings
and carry her heart
in the clouds
until the storms stopped
leaving puddles of
bloody tears around her feet.

Life became a foot race
to the end of each day,
one step after the other
until her scars became
callouses that wore
grooves into the floor boards.

I swore my feet would take me farther...
farther than the shouting,
so far that I couldn't hear
the echos of her cries
or the thought of your name.

Her bruises were my battle cries,
the reason I waged a war inside myself
each time you told me that you loved me.

You taught me hate with each hit,
and bitterness with each blow
to her self esteem.
While my mother moved around
minefields
father-daughter dances
waltzed around questions
in rental tuxes and glass slippers.
You acted as though I might shatter
at your touch,
sang me lullabies until I drifted off
to never land,
not knowing that you were the monster
in my dreams.

Your words became band aids
on open wounds,
an infection in my psyche
I was too scared to cut away.

It took my mother years
to finally soar above your rule,
to let go of her reflection
only shown in your eyes,
and become another person
not tied down to expectations.
She carved out new life
with broken pieces from my piggy bank,
and left me to do the same --
etching a path around the demons
I have never wanted to face.

I will leave you behind,
drowning in the same
bloody puddles
you poured at her feet,
to die a slow death as
you chase a finish line
that is forever out of reach.