Burning Salt

Written in 2024

I pull the sheets over my face to
hide from the scars around my eyes, on my lips, in and around my ears,
dug into my bones and muscles so bloody and raw,
yet so old you could see layers upon layers of tattered and misaligned skin formed on top.

My fingers dance the indents and embossments all across my scarred story,
resting upon each one to trace its outline, to dig in, to test its pain and recall the cut that left it there.

Tears stream down my face, sinking into each scar, into each cut and bruise,
a salty burn in each one scalding my scarcely healed skin,
forcing my mouth open to taste the salted agony as I scream, terror and rage flooding my every bone and muscle.

Under the covers I remain hidden as though that erases my lifetime of punches and kicks,
as though somehow under the covers I am safe from my own pain,
as if under the covers I don’t bear the relentless torment of a lifetime of mistreatment and suffering,
as if they don’t follow me wherever I go.

Upon encouragement, I slowly peek out from under the covers in the hopes that I might see something different,
and though my scars are still misshapen and raw, though the pain still cuts me from the center of my bones to the nerve endings on my skin,
I see the possibility of more. A breath of relief escapes my bruised lips,
and suddenly the burning sensation of salt is almost hopeful.

I begin to realize perhaps it is solely above the sheets that I may see my truth enough to reopen my scars so they may this time heal through love and patience despite the agony from the air pricking them open and exposed, so they may realign to defend me rather than burn me.

Perhaps it is above the sheets that my skin, misaligned and tattered, may begin to form protective and strong,
that over time my fingers may dance the lines to recall the warrior as much as the wound.

That perhaps over time the tears might roll over each scar harmlessly and find their way to my shoulders and arms,
and I may hold them soft between the palms of my hands to ease the anguish and gently remind myself of where I came from to take pride in where I’ve come to.