Scar Tissue

Sometimes I forget who I am. Especially lately. Since starting medical school little pieces of me have fallen into cracks or been hidden away in the back of a drawer until I became-- a medical student, a girlfriend, a halfway decent family member, and friend who was more absent than not. These past few weeks I've been missing those other lost pieces of me. I keep thinking that if I can put them all together, I can somehow find my smile again... and feel a little stronger. I keep thinking that if I put myself together again into the person I once was, I can be more lovable again (because the child in me still sometimes says that maybe if I had just been more lovable...)
Anyhow, regardless of the purpose, it's kind of comforting to look at myself again and think about who I've been, what I haven't given myself credit for, and the talents I've forgotten I had. As Sarah reminded me this past Sunday (when I wouldn't claim one of the apples being given out to the teachers in church) I am a teacher-- I taught English to a group of wonderful students, I taught the teachers who now teach my 48 children, I taught pre-meds who were ansiously preparing for their MCATs. I'm also an artist, a sister, a daughter, a grandaughter, a sort-of mother of 48 beautiful Bangladeshi children, a mentor, a medical student (still, yes), a writer, and hopefully more.

So a long intro to say, I've been getting reacquainted with writing again. Here you go:

9-16-07

I find pieces of myself
scattered,
around the bed, in long hallways,
on the rim of a beer glass perhaps.
In the places you've recently left
the me pieces that flaked off your skin now carpet wooden floors.
9 a.m. me, stretching and rolling over,
laid half-forgotten under the bed.
Mischievous smile me
was still wrapped up in your sleeping bag.
Pumpkin pie baking me got
crusted onto a dirty pie pan.
I find pieces of myself and I
sew them--
interweave them like collagen.
Scar tissue to keep me from falling apart.