Postcard

She looks perfect,
admired,
appreciated,
a thing of beauty,
vibrant,
strong,
exuding an energy
that draws us in.

She smiles.
She leads.
She does.
She loves fiercely.

It is the truth.
It is a lie.
It is her protection, this perfection.
a magnificent bit of makeup
to hide the scars
still weeping,

still fleeing her tormenter,
fleeing the memories,
blinded by her wounds,
unable to see
the beauty so obvious
to the rest of us.

About this poem

Hardly a day goes by that I don’t see this story played out in people around me. I wish I could say I don’t know why it happens, but most of the time, as I get to know people, I do.

How we treat people matters. What we say to people about themselves, matters. More than most of us realize…. until the damage is done.

Tom