scars

I'm prone to looking down
at the ground,
seeing the dust and the scraps
often left behind.

but before bending down
to pick them up,
my eyes wander simply over
the terrible patterns they're
out to make.
and I sigh, because, well,
it's an awful sight,
although,
no one seems to notice

but me.
how ironic I am to
be the one to pick up
the pieces.

August 4, 2001