My Skin Is a Canvas

My skin is a canvas, torn and stained. A roadmap of heartache, a portrait of pain. Each mark is a letter,

each scar makes up the words. Tells the inked-up stories of the one I love most.

A burn from the irons, a cut from the blade. A name on my arm from the choices

I made. The compass in my chest points to places I roam. But this flesh tells

the truth when my feet won't go home.