I’ve got scars on my shins, fingers and knees.
These scars are simple. Scars from childhood memories.
Scars from surgeries all over my chest and back.
These scars show my courage, where strength never lacked.
I’ve got scars that are hidden, where no eye can see.
Scars under the skin, scars holding harder memories.
I’ve got scars in places you wouldn’t think they’d ever be.
I’ve got scars in places where scars should never be.
Scars in my stomach, where many pills have dissolved.
Scars on my heart, from when I risked it all.
I’ve got scars on my mind, from the voices inside.
I’ve got scars in my eyes, the things I’ve seen, but hide.
I’ve got scars from people who have come, and left me broken.
I’ve got scars, proof of who I was, and who I will never be wholly again.
I’ve got scars I wear with shame, I’ve got scars I wear with pride.
I’ve got scars all over me. All over my wrists, knuckles, and thighs.
I’ve got scars from wars that no one would ever believe I fought in.
I’ve got scars from wars that I fought, knowing I could never win.
These scars do not define who I am, nor who I will be.
But these scars have helped me learn to be a stronger me.
These scars are thick, wide, and promise to stay.
But these scars are beautiful in their own way.
These scars prove that being fragile does not mean being broken.
These scars prove this this story is unfinished, a book barely opened.
These scars tell the story of unique beauty and power of will.
These scars tell a story of a lost and found little girl.
These scars tell the story of a broken hero, and all her battles and pain.
These scars tell the story of the many stitches that put her back together again.