Pencil thin lines

Well, we had a coffeehouse event this weekend, and for the coffeehouse, I decided to read a piece I'd revised earlier in the week. It's based on a real event, and the Lord provided all of the imagery and words; He knows I haven't written anything in who knows how long.

So here it is.

_______________________________________________________________

Pencil- thin- lines

            Inside your forearms, on your shoulders

I play them like a xylophone until

You shiver and shrink away

            I’d forgotten in that instant—your story.

Not branches, scratching or clawing, because of your work.

No.

Razorrrrsss

Hissing one- after- the other

How couldn’t I have noticed this ‘til now?

These faint, distinct battle scars

            Each telling a new story of blood

                                                            Terror

                                                                 Self-hatred

A hatred so strong

    You scrub against your skin until you’re raw, until you rip apart, and you’re nothing again.

But you don’t see what I see.

Mirrors- on your wrists-

    Revealing nails instead of blades.

Shamed no more,

    But redeemed.

So I’ll play the xylophone until your beautiful music plays,

And you wear your heart—instead of your hate—on your sleeve.