Jars of scars

A round of applause for my skin
That tells of places that I’ve been
The pinching pains witnessed and seen
As an adult and as a teen

Battles I won and didn’t win
Are fulcra of my flapping wings
I’ve been battered by troubled seas
Lost my feathers and lost my fins

Scratched by tiggers, smoked by kilns
Picking stains that can’t be cleaned
I’ve lost my nails in quaking scenes
Under the bridge is where I’ve been…

I’m a board of bruise and blisters 
Gotten from sharks and accipiters
I’ve swam in the deadliest waters
Precluding weights on my shoulders

Shedding sweats and making blunders
I’ve bled on all stones and flowers
Even on same spots and corners
That gave me scars I remember

Round of applause for the monster
Who happens to be a painter,
I see him now as a teacher
And judge him not by his cover…

Lessons I learned from all my scars
Are never the same in my jar
Not even an exploding maar
Or scars firm as harmattan cheddar

Wider than oceans or dark as tars
Can stop me from loving these scars
Outward or within, low or high
On the verge of life’s draining bars

I don’t care if a trocar
Comes plucking off all I garnered;
A life lived without scars and chars
Is like being a stringless guitar.

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Onyeche Vincent Onyekachukwu