You know these scars you always see on me?
I think I've never said just where they're from.
There're some that come from certain Odysseys,
And others still that seem a bit humdrum.
At times I wonder, "Should I explain?"
They do unearth peculiar ways of mine.
I think that still I must but just refrain;
It's pride, I think, that they do misalign.
It's hurt you see that still quite lingers there
From pain and agony that I would ask
No other to bear. Instead I often stare,
Remembering all the stories they unmask.
I want to share them all with you, my love,
But shy from all the hurt that be in my past.
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