Pitted

This poem is inspired by the idea of an “introspective bildungsroman”, a sort of autobiographical snippet of my personal history. I wanted to suggest a link between habits and learning from our mistakes, and how a change of discipline and daily experience can provoke a sense of dissonance.

Pitted

I am as familiar with the flaking olive drab of an anti-aircraft gun,
(Or the crumbling straps under a cannon’s rotting carriage),
As I am incapable of keeping my nail polish unchipped.
Pale, sullen, scars, from countless blistering battles lost and won,
(With hot iron, or cold unyielding steel),
Leap out from the blank page of my skin.
They linger, each crescent describing poor decisions,
Lessons learned from slippery apprentice fingers,
Criss-crossed and struck through like an editor’s note.
They fade, but never wane completely,
Serving as reference, remembrance, retrospective,
Pocked and pitted footnotes on my body’s painful history.