The Leather Map of Me
The jacket is hanging in the closet,
The first right after the prom dress and
Second left after the white sweater.
Its black leather exterior, still hard and smooth.
I havenâ€™t changed much either,
At least, I still look the same.
On the outside.
Insideâ€™s a different story:
I see each memory as I trace the points,
Not needing a compass.
The pocket is ripped- where the heart would be,
And thereâ€™s a hole from when I was stabbed in the side.
Thereâ€™s blood in the sleeve that I canâ€™t get out,
And a line of purple sharpie marker from my cast signatures.
Itâ€™s like a map of where Iâ€™ve been,
Following the road to who Iâ€™ll become
Still strong, but falling apart underneath.
No matter how many patches are adding,
Neither of us will ever be the same again.
But where will the next stop on this journey be?