My Scars,
I don't think of them as cuts and bruises.
No.
I think of them as little plain trails, that flew across my chest and left marks.
I think of them as cracks in a pavement or marks in the rocks at the seaside.
But they aren't, they aren't plain trails, or cracks in a pavement, or marks in the rocks.
They are chinks in my body armour, but I am strong, I've just come out of a rough patch and a few scars don't change who I am.
They drawings etched on my skin, were pain is the paintbrush and blood is the paint.
I draw.
