Made of Love

trE
heartscar
At such an odd angle, I realized that I have a scar that is somewhat shaped like a heart. If only you guys could have seen me trying to tilt my head, fidget with my wrist, and maneuver the phone to get what I think is the best shot I can get of this thing. LOL. Maybe you can see it too, maybe not. Photo Credit: Tremaine L. Loadholt

wandering eyes shift toward
a scarred wrist.
from years ago, fate
was sealed.
I think to myself,
“how did love end up here?”
I tilt my head…
I flex my wrist…
I find myself searching for
a connection when the connection
is already there.

slowly, I guide my hand
into the light,
lean into its luminance
and nod in approval.
if this is not significant,
if this holds no mark of welcome space,
if this is not proof that
I was made to love,
then I do not know what is — or
what will be.

I try to capture its shape.
I share it with loved ones,
they see it. and they don’t.
and I find myself smiling
at something so odd yet
a mystery too.
my body’s home to this flaw
and I do not recall the origin.

but, it is here.
as it sometimes appears on buttered toast,
as traveling clouds, and
in crumpled pieces of paper cut,
folded, opened, closed, and re-opened again.
my reminder, that if there is
only one thing I assume to be
my purpose in life —
and will always be,
it is to love.

Because I need to market my work a bit better, I have logged onto Instagram. If you so choose, follow me here.

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