Holes

I've been thinking a lot about child hood scars...

We waited for the off season
streets as white as...
Death's wrinkled hands,
covered in eucalyptus
to keep the holes fresh.

Holes that remind us of imperfection --
scars that run up sides,
backs,
wrists,
souls...

We are covered in lies & secession,
the dirty laundry of the agrieved.
Completely incapable of believeing ourselves...
completely out of tune with everything
we could have achieved.

 

Author's Note

I'd like to know what you think...