Broken pieces lie, the marks exist.
A fracture here, a fissure there,
Healed over, sealed shut, but still waiting—
Waiting to be found, to be seen, to be noticed.
Expecting nothing, they wait knowing their day will come.
How they came to be, only a few remember;
Regardless they wait, remaining forever,
Burned into my porcelain skin.
All for character, signs of battles past.
How many wounds linger in their place
While blind men and women pass by?
How many cracks and crevices are yet to be seen?
Looking straight at them, yet
Looking straight through them.
What invisible scars life leaves.
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