Scarfs and Scars

I match my scarfs with my attires,

some with colors and some with patterns.

 

Like I do my scars, with my memories

of places that I had dared to tread

where I found strength and a rush in my head

 

Like marks on my body,

that remind me of my journey,

and how worthy of them the destinations can be.

 

Now I match my scarfs with attires I wear;

Some with colors and some with patterns.

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Window Glass

I sit and stare

through the window glass.

It’s crystal clear,

except it’s not;

there’s a blurring fog.

 

The eyes try to see something

that I still can’t find.

They wander, like aimless travelers,

on paths, near and far,

that seem to lead

somewhere I’m not.

 

I sit and stare.

I’m right where I always was.