20170605_185332via Daily Prompt: Authentic

I once heard it said that scars are just tattoos with better stories. I’d agree with that. They’re more real, moreĀ authentic . Not that tattoos don’t have good stories. I’ve heard some great ones, some funny ones, some sad ones. But for genuine authenticity, you can’t beat a scar. You get to choose a tattoo, choose how that memory or that story will be represented. Not so with scars, you get the reminder that you get, crooked, deep, pale, thin, you don’t get to place a custom order.

I’ve grown fond of my scars. They tell my life’s stories, authentic stories. I know there are scars that are never seen. Emotional scars that we all bear, but I’m talking about the hard core, torn flesh scars.

I carry many scars. Like old memories, each one tells a story of the lessons I’ve learned.

The four inch cat scratch that laid the wrist bone bare, reminds me to stay out of fights that aren’t my own.

The star shaped scar from the bicycle chain reminds me to keep my eyes on the road.

The thin line at the base of my throat tells me live fully every day, because you just never know what tomorrow holds.

The eight inch twin scars on my knees say louder than words can ever say, “just keep moving forward, getting stronger every day.”

You see, they may not be pretty, but they are authentic.

Parallel – blog prompt


Blog promptĀ Parallel

My life ran in a straight line. Like a stiff thread headed straight for the needle’s eye, I followed a straight line toward my destiny, or so I thought. Friends, family and lovers came across my life’s line on strange vectors and transversals. Intersecting momentarily, then off in their own direction, as I traveled on at the speed of light, headed straight to my ultimate destination of nowhere.

And so my life passed, always certain, a single direction, never varied. Until I hit the pothole. That great chasm in life known as “chronic disease.” I stared into the vanishing depths of it, into the oblivion of uncertainty. My straight line wavered, my path became indistinct and I wobbled back and forth, to and fro like a seismographic line measuring the after shocks. Continue reading “Parallel – blog prompt”