There was a time we laughed at scars, At crooked teeth and battered cars, At foolish things that we had done, And somehow everyone had fun.
We knew that life could bruise and sting, Yet pain was not a crown or king. A wound was something meant to mend, Not something worn to gain a friend.
We traded jabs and took them well, Then bought each other drinks at twelve. Your world was yours, and mine was mine, And difference wasn’t some dividing line.
We didn’t need to all agree, For you to still sit next to me. Your thoughts could wander far from mine, And somehow both of us were fine.
But somewhere laughter lost its place, And every word became a case. A careless joke, a clumsy phrase, Could follow someone now for days.
We learned that wounds could purchase praise, That grievance gathered eyes and gaze. And pain, once carried quietly through, Became a way to prove one’s due.
So now we measure who has bled, And weigh each careless thing that’s said. We polish hurts and name each scar, Then ask the world how brave we are.
What happened to the thicker skin, That let the whole damn world come in? The friend who mocked the way you spoke, Then nearly died laughing at your joke?
The bonds we forged were strange and true, Because I wasn’t just like you. We learned each other’s foreign ways, And laughed together anyway.
Perhaps we’ve gained a gentler tongue, And heard some voices once unsung. There’s goodness there—we shouldn’t hide The mercy growing from that tide.
But mercy need not make us frail, Nor every hardship some travail. Compassion doesn’t need a throne Built out of every broken bone.
I’d rather meet you standing tall, With scars and stories, flaws and all. No medals needed for your pain, No audience required for rain.
Just pull a chair up next to mine, Bring your strange world, I’ll bring mine. We’ll disagree, we’ll laugh, we’ll mend, And maybe call each other friend.
For gone may be those careless days, But not beyond our power to raise A world where difference isn’t wrath…
