One of my grandmothers had these scars over her face.
I can remember how the edges of the flesh felt under my fingers as I caressed those scars.
The tradition and culture going back so far.
3 long cuts into the skin against each side of her cheek.
The culture that runs through the wound that conveys tribe and beauty.
It fills me with pride - a obligation - a duty.
I long to know the life you must've lead.
I reminisce on Thursdays and all the love that you use to spread.
The souls that you fed.
Such elegance and grace.
I long for the day I can run my fingers across the art on your face.
YOU ARE READING
Collection Of Eclectic Poems From An Introverted Mind.
PoetryA compilation of poems narrating the very vulnerable thoughts of a very introverted, and often twisted, mind. The spectrum of emotions we all endure in life.
