Scars


My scars do not deform me, they define me
The eye's first glance might deceive a man
Causing him to believe what he sees is
The terrible aftermath of a bloody beating
Or perhaps self-inflicted mutilation
These scars are jagged chasms on my body,
Rough to the touch and harsh on the eyes
And their mismatched texture is uneven against my unscathed skin
The eye looks upon my scars
Seeing a grisly depiction of the torture my body
And my soul has felt.
But when I look upon my scars, I see not a tragedy
Rather there is a story
One involving once-fresh wounds,
Blood, sweat, tears, pain,
And sometimes the reopening of these same lesions,
But ultimately healing
And so these scars that were once so ugly
Are silent story tellers
This body that was once so mutilated
Is now a beautiful work of art
For my scars do not deform me, they define me

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