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We welcome scar tissue into our arms like it’s a good thing
As if it were a long-loved but long-forgotten lover we pretend never made us long-suffering
Scar tissue whose flap signals hardening and distance, both reasons to smile sorrowfully
Scar tissue whose cells allow us to survive
But at an angry and vengeful cost
Scar tissue whose existence prolongs our own as if it had an agenda despite our will to die
Whose will does it heed?
Pretty ye gleam, hard diamond
I smile at you
That my awareness is irrelevant
Prettiness hardly matters when you shine.