Pieces of what used to be do not haunt me,
They simply leave the scar of what used to be an entering into the flesh of the older days.
They come in many forms.
The ballad makes ocean water drip from the corners of my eyes,
The salt runs over the scribbles on my face-
Scribbles slowly fading, born from tribulation.
I do not necessarily dislike the scribbles
-they mark the absence of a shell,
The shell of my former self.
Or the caterpillars recluse- the butterflies childhood home.
The pixels- caught in a moment of a trillion,
Came, passed and left to sit where they belong-
in the beauty of what was- a memory as small as lice yet as big as ten suns.
Although Adversity does not stop-
It never does- for anyone.
You learn to live with the liar-
In your own way- everyone has a way.
Little drops of "gold" through the stomach are supposed to help-
sometimes stops me biting my lips till they bleed or picking at the edges of my frame.
I sit comfortably with who I am and simply smile at who I was-
She made me who I am today and I am grateful for that.
