I remember when I called you from Spain crying
Because the wounds on my legs had suddenly settled into scars.
Permanent blemishes on my young skin that I feared so.
And you comforted me saying
that they were
"just little scars"
on legs that would be too perfect without them.
You said this imperfection would make me more human.
I smiled because being human sounded lovely.
And as I walked home I saw
a man lying in the street on a pile of rags -
he did not have legs.
And I smiled because scarred human legs suddenly felt lovely.
Because the wounds on my legs had suddenly settled into scars.
Permanent blemishes on my young skin that I feared so.
And you comforted me saying
that they were
"just little scars"
on legs that would be too perfect without them.
You said this imperfection would make me more human.
I smiled because being human sounded lovely.
And as I walked home I saw
a man lying in the street on a pile of rags -
he did not have legs.
And I smiled because scarred human legs suddenly felt lovely.