Wounded

The further we get into National Poetry Month, the more I am enjoying it. I’ve always been more of a prose person—poems are complicated. I read a quote the other day, that perfectly illustrates why I struggle with them so much.

 

“Poetry is an art of beginnings and ends. You want middles, read novels.” –Dean Young, The Art of Recklessness:  Poetry as Assertive Force and Contradiction

 

However, after reading the collective works of famous poets lately, and paying attention to poetry that has been posted for April, I am learning to absorb it more readily. Some is over my head still, and others are just too fluffy. But when it hits, it hits. And certain poets just stand out.

 

Lang Leav is a poet that I found on Pinterest. Images of her poetry gets posted often, and so I’ve collected several in my journals. This is a particularly beautiful one that I think many of us can relate to.

 

Wounded

 

A bruise is tender

but does not last,

it leaves me as

I always was.

 

But a wound I take

much more to heart,

for a scar will always

leave its mark.

 

And if you should ask me

which you are

my answer is—

you are a scar.

 

–Lang Leav

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