Sat, 04/06/2019 - 01:21 -- vann116

These arms hold crimson droplets,

lightning bolts and jagged lines.

Though people laugh at scars so deep,

they, in spite of fate, are mine. 


I see them before I go to sleep,

and when I am revived.

I’ve walked mountains in the skin I’m in,

and have managed to survive. 


People gawk at scars so clear,

like it’s nothing they’ll ever see. 

I pay them no attention, though.

They are beautiful to me. 


My body has many stories that I hold all in my hands.

The world my question, stare, and laugh and shun,

but I don’t need them to understand. 






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