Sometimes I look at myself in the mirror
Count all the scars that have somehow shown up in my
Gray hairs and smile lines and crow’s feet
And I wonder if this is what people see when they look at me
Or if they see something different than the pain
That I feel is plainly displayed in my features.
And then I look at myself and think of all the things
That make me beautiful, that have nothing to do
With how many wounds I’ve healed or burdens I carry.
And I wonder if people see this instead
How I give myself freely
How I cultivate the spark in others
How I inspire those who touch me
How I shine in dark places
How I hold sacred space for those who hurt
How I say no without fear
How I go forward even with the chains around my feet.
Then I smile at my reflection, still wondering
But deciding that perhaps it does not matter what they see.
Perhaps all that matters is what I see.
And I see how all the scars have given me this silver crown
And the wisdom of elders and the love of beauty.
The Quick and the Dead 