Father, do you see me?
painting this canvas you gave me,
tree-bark bloody knees and
bruises darkening in mystery tones,
tiny scars streaking there for longer
(they are all small. for now.)
I am not afraid to live
on this page I have been given,
to record my history in blemishes,
a firstborn unfit for sacrifice.
Father, do you see me?
decorating the house you gave me,
ink surface-staining for a while and
powder-paint settled around my eyes,
fabrics hanging on each limb
(they all come off. for now.)
I have found some joy
in this little house I have,
to find ways to make it almost home,
a temple to my spirit.
Father, do you know?
the plans for the foundation you made,
that someday sharpie stains and tiny scars
will become surgery and tattooed tales,
a deeper voice and calmer mind
(these are only plans. for now.)
I know about growth
and that parental love leads us
to work ourselves to be our own,
as I will make myself.