Sample poem: "Scar Tissue"

So it looks like it might be a little while longer before I get to have a poetry reading. The library I was hoping to host it at said they didn't have the space or time for me, and I didn't have much luck with the other places I contacted.  :(

I have also been waiting to hear from a few literary magazines, which I should've heard from by now, but I have not yet received their responses. I still have my fingers crossed, but I can't guarantee anything.

Therefore, I have decided to post a sample poem through here, in hopes that it may still reach a wide audience who could enjoy it. So without further ado, I present my poem "Scar Tissue".

Scar Tissue

The question stands:
How much pain do we feel?
I can't recall being immune
To much of it; I know
That though some things no longer leave a scratch,
Memories will still resurface out of seas of darkness in my mind
And I will ask myself:
How much pain do I really feel?

It didn't feel real when you said "It's over.".
Only an email just before work
From a person with your name
Who was not you.

It couldn't feel real to lose her,
To have her skid from my fingers like reckless raindrops
And fall into a void somewhere
Between our schools and her old street.
Old photos and a letter stuffed away
Make me question what was ever there,
As must she.

And my high school friends couldn't see my love
With clear eyes; few of them smoked,
But life had blurred the eyes of their minds
And they would not let me in.
No Saturday night dancing, no VIP,
But why should I beg for their attention?

I wonder why this frustrates me,
Why I think I'm struggling to be someone
As I think of my possibilities,
Only half-immersed in the dream
That is not a teenage girl writing poetry
In an old spiral notebook,
Waiting for her poetry to be accepted
In magazines she had never heard of.
This is the girl who was nearly thrown in the trash
Because the French teacher wrote her recommendation letters
And the English teachers liked her work.
This is the girl who waited years for her Argentinean ID card
And cried her heart out
Because she didn't want to be called an undocumented immigrant anymore.

Probing scar tissue,
They knew which knife would hurt the most.
Familiar with the art of framing,
They would tear other things apart
Before I could figure out
How to put the rest back together again.
To me, they were two-faced.
To them, I was pathetic.

It may take them years to understand
What it took for me to let them in.
It may dawn on them that they should have taken in
How much I ached for love, blow after blow.
Scar tissue: a healing wound,
The perfect place to get in.

Let the world see my scars.
Let the world feel my pain.
I will not carry them like burdens anymore.
May the light guide you to where you ought to be.
May it illuminate my scars.
They're fading slowly.

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Scar Tissue by Courtney Justus is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-ShareAlike 4.0 International License.

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Feel free to post your opinion in the comments section. I will accept both praise and constructive criticism, as well as any questions you might have.

Thank you so much!