The Cartographer of Scars
Submitted By: Aditi Savant
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I trace the map of midnight on my wrist Not lines of fortune, but where the shadow kissed. Each threadbare scar, a meridian of pain, A record kept in crimson, soft as rain. The world insists we polish, hide, and mend, To show a seamless surface to the friend. But I have learned the truth the earth conceals: The greatest strength is not the hurt that heals, But the fissure that lets morning light pour through. I am the cartographer of every grief, The archivist of doubt, and lost belief. These broken pathways are the roads I roam; They don't define the journey, but they bring me home. A weathered vessel, gloriously undone. I carry all the darkness of the sun.
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Reg ID: BF25-5806
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