Scars

He stood there,
On Christmas Eve.
Looking into the mirror.

He was quite sad.
Depressed, actually.
By what he saw there.
By the images that he could see
That no one else could see.
Images of memories.
Paintings of events
That he remembered so very well.

All of them ending
With yet another scar
Left forever
On his heart.

It saddened him greatly
Every time he looked
And saw those scars.

He knew
He’d never put
A single one
Of those scars
On his heart.
They’d been put there
By people he had known.
People he had called his friends.

What saddened him the most
Was how the people that he’d known
That had scared his heart
The way they had
Had never understood
The hurt that they’d caused him.
And his understanding
That none of them
Every would.

After all.
He was the only one
That had been injured
In the way he’d been.
No one else
He’d ever known
Had been hurt
Like he’d been.

Since no one had been hurt
Except for him,
It had to be something
That he’d done,
Didn’t it.
That’s how he was treated
By the people that he knew.

As if everything
Was always his fault.

As he stood there,
Looking in the mirror
At the scars upon his heart,
He asked God once again
To take care of his friends.

“You found a way
To touch my heart.
To awaken me.
You never once
Gave up on me.
Please, God.
Don’t give up on them.”

The truth was
The only real mistake
He’d ever really made
Was being different.

He still had trouble accepting
The way people treated him
Because he did not behave
Exactly like them.

He had even more trouble
Trying to understand
How people could live
In such awful pain.
And not realize it.

How could people deny
So many things they felt?
So many things they believed?
So many differences
Among themselves?

How could they go on
Day after day,
Afraid to say things
That were different?
Things that might disturb,
Or disrupt,
Or upset,
Someone that they knew?

It was this denial
Of individuality
That had wounded his heart
So very many times.
And left the scars upon it.

And yet,
All of the people
That he knew
Proclaimed how different
Each of them were.

They were looking
At the window dressings
Of their lives.
If people were like cars,
They’d all be the same model.
But with different paint.
And different trim.
Some with radios.
Some not.
Some with performance tires.
Some with plain old radials.
Some with the cheapest tires
That they could find.

Some would have paint stripes on.
Some would be plain colors.
Some would have that pain
With all the plastic bits in it
So that the color changed
When the light hit it.
And you couldn’t really tell
What color that it was.
Some would have fabric interiors.
Some would have plain vinyl.
Some would have gone upscale
And opted for leather.

But, underneath it all,
When you stripped away
All the details that there were.
They wound up
All the same.

And it bothered him greatly
That the people in his life
Didn’t even seem to know
That things were that way.

He had to wonder
What had happened
Years and years ago
That would have caused
Such a thing to happen.
That would have caused
Everyone to be the same.
To follow the same rules,
And the same ways.
To the point
Where nothing else
Existed.

This was where the scars came from
That were on his heart.

As he stood there
Looking in the mirror,
He knew as time went past,
There would be still more scars
Made upon his heart.
By the people
He called friends.

All because
He was really different
From them.

The scars he saw upon his heart
When he looked into the mirror
Didn’t make him sad at all.
To him, they were a part of life.
Just like smiles,
Laughter,
And happy memories,
There would always be
Tears,
And pain.

That’s just how life works.

It was the memories he had
Of the causes of those scars
That made him sad.
That and the knowledge
That none of the friends
That had hurt him,
Leaving scars like that
Upon his heart,
Would ever understand
What they had done to him.

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