You see these scars?
They each have a story,
This one on the back of my calf,
The one that looks like a giant gash.
I got from riding a bike and stopping to fast.
The back peg dug into my skin.
I couldn't cry because the big kids were looking.
And I was expected to be a big and strong girl.
And these all around my arms and legs.
These are kind of gross.
They are from scabs I wouldn't stop picking at because I was bored.
Mom kept yelling at me,
telling me to quit it.
That they looked bad and would leave scars. (if only she knew)
And this one,
At the base of my left middle finger
I have no idea where that one came from.
Maybe from that ring I never wear anymore,
or maybe I just scratched it while I was sleeping, dreaming of far off places.
And the ones on my face that will eventually fade?
Those came from these awkward teenage years.
From all the stress
And finally, these
the ones on my arms, thighs and sides.
The long and short ones tracing over each other like a map
Those came from when I was so sad and just angry at the world.
That I took it out on myself,
when i hated myself to the point where I just didn't care anymore.
Because the voices in my head were screaming at me,
and the voices outside of it too.
All of these scars tell MY story.
What do yours tell?