Picasso may have had a point

You ask how I got the scar across my left thumb

and I think about telling you a story

involving a fishhook, a skateboard, and two

minutes of death, but instead I sigh,

say my cat, and the conversation is over. Would

the lie have been more exciting? Sure. But

it would paint a distorted image of me

in your mind; twist about my features until

all that was left was someone – something –

I couldn’t recognise. Maybe someday I can

be that surrealist survivor, or maybe I will

bleed across a canvas until all my scars have faded.

---

I totally didn't miss my second post or the guest writer last month I don't know what you mean...

I haven't written a new poem in a long time, this is one from the archives, written over a year ago, and I'm just still proud enough of it to post. Ask me again in six months and I'll probably hate it. We are our own worst critics, as they say.

~ C