conversations

you say/ that you did not learn this/ from me...

you say
that you did not learn this
from me
but I know
better –
I know how soon
your scars
(like bars) will
imprison you.
I know.
I know!
you do not see
(or do you see)
the wreck
this has made of my life.
you do not ask
but somehow know
I understand.
but you don’t know
how fast you will fall
even lower
than you are now.
I want to take your hand
and run it across my scars –
make you feel the bumps
and indentations. give you water
and ask you to wash
the blood away. I want to
ask you
what beauty
you see here
I want to ask
if you feel the pain
ebbing from the wounds I bear
or if you only marvel
at the intricate spider web
of lines, that seem to say
“I am stronger than this.”
what beauty do you see in this?
I want to know…
how much was mimicked
and how much was real.
I see your cuts
and lay them beside my own
see you
and our connection
I see how much your act
resembles my own.
and I feel guilty.
but I am chilled
by the lines
thereby counted
on your wrist
and I know
that this cannot continue
I turn you in
and hope for the best.
I extend my care to you