You and I grew up quickly
Among broken promises and shattered dreams.
It was among this debris that we played
As children in war torn villages are apt to do.
As we scuttled through the shards of broken bottles
And white-hot cinders our souls
Were cut and blistered.
And some wounds healed better than others.
Some scabs served their purpose and revealed
Shiny baby flesh -- a new beginning.
And some wounds were repeatedly ripped open
So that instead of healing into
A neat white line
They became the mottled, pitted emblems
Of burn victims.
