scars are my memories, they mark my battles start-

why would i erase them?

they are the lines of my heart-

the finish line is inscribed in the dark patch of remembering,

yet forgetting.



scars are my memories, 

the only record i have that shows that i've truly come far.

my scars are a part of me,

in a way the world will never understand-

the Others are disgusted by the dried blood,

but they don't think of the cause,

the driving force driving my mind to self destruction.

my scars keep me sane.



where is your cavemen-like records?

pictures and lines, letters inscribed

hidden under long sleeves,

or do you cover them with bracelets like me ?

are they on too large thighs,

and do they still burn sometimes when you run your fingers over them?

are they on sides,

and do they still feel as if they bleed sometimes?

in the middle of the night,

do you catalog them as the night slows,

and you travel back in time to those days

where their words cut deeper than your razor could ever go,

do your scars remind you of how far you've gone?



my scars show me that the world couldn't beat me down,

and that i rose from the rubble of my desperate endings,

and that i survived-

survived the bitter cold nights

where even with nearly being in the fire

i could never get my body warm-

my scars remind me of the things my mind would otherwise forget-

my scars are my history,

they make me, Me.



scars are my memories, they mark my battle's start-

why would i erase them?

they are the lines of my heart-

the finish line is painted in the dark patches of remembering,

they remind me of those days,

where my mind needed a release,

and that kind words didn't make the pain cease,

and my scars tell me that i understand-

my scars make me human,

what do yours have to say?

they are the reminders that somehow,

some way,

we made it to today.

The End

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