Scars and Stories

I bump the chair, a familiar sting,

a flash of the past surges back in a rush,

a kneecap scar, like a small, bitter thing,

a map of mistakes, in this hurried hush.

Each mark tells a tale, a moment of pain,

when I fell hard, just a kid in the street,

yet here I stand, learning to rise once again,

in scars, in the silence, my heart finds its beat.