Unseen Marks

A stranger’s voice cuts through the morning air,

a casual comment—my birthmark laid bare.

“Is that new?” they ask, with a glance at my skin,

a reminder of something I thought I was in.

The mark on my arm, uninvited it seems,

a memory I’ve carried, now tangled in dreams.

I look in the mirror, what do I see?

a spot of my past that still clings to me.