it CUTS like a knife
[Today, with surgical precision.]
the choices we make
(chances we take)
shape the scars, which are placed
(early on, like roots) at the base
until we run out of days
(scars intricate in so many ways)
in time the shallow scars fade,
but today
[today I placed this scar]
cutting out tissue knotted
with
(pastpastpastpastpastpast) whispers
with one,
clean,
sharp,
line
(barely a wrinkle)
I turn, scalpel in hand,
and beckon the world.
[Bring it.]
I am a buyers remorse kind of chick. Rarely is a decision made, or a scalpel wielded that doesn't have some sort of hind-sight in tow. But I love the end of this poem...your power, the bravado. BRING IT! Yes!
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