her the story of my scar
that runs
along
my forehead.
a clean deep
wound, long healed, but
there it is
in the light.
i tell her it's from when
i was at war,
and she asks,
which one.
i tell her three wars each
no better than
the other,
a battle in
the trenches,
thinking it was love.
but in the end,
i survived,
i did win.
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