Notches on skin
Reminiscent of warriors of old
Etching their kills on their clubs
But I count loosely
Carving vague batches
Of straight shallow lines
Each set a victory medal
A reward for surviving the
Darkest of my personal darks
Each red sketch a silent boast
A hidden pride, a tiny proof
That I stand here breathing
Some glow red for weeks
Determined to hold on
As long as they can
Some vanish quickly, weak even
In their despair, lacking the fortitude
To persist against my healing
Some of them lighten and fade
Nearly invisible, but remain for years
Pale ghosts of past battlefields
Somehow, for one who lives
On this shifting boundary
Between stability and weakness
Non-lethal temporary marks
For non-lethal temporary victories
Seem fitting tributes
The most I dare hope for
Temporary victories are victories nonetheless
Truths that won’t be taken away from me
September 4-6, 2024
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