I don’t even remember who carved what first –
I just know the rawness of slices on skin;
Not realizing that I needn’t accept the curse,
I assimilated the marks until they grew within.
Each signature pooled in surrounding wound
Like rain as it seeks ever the lowest ground;
Each epithet sang with a gruesome tune
As poison-pen arrows their resting-place found.
My eyes grew dim with perennial tears
And cataracts formed to constrict my view;
The graffiti embodied my nightmared fears
As I learned to adopt them as being my due.
But You had already in compassion deep
Carved out Your mark over all the rest;
You saw the beauty the curse made to sleep,
And Cross covered scars that criss-crossed my chest.
Your wounds smothered mine, in sympathy true,
Love conquered lines that had lied to my face;
Now when I look at my scars, I see You
Whose body was scarred as You died in my place.