A Message To All Who....

Scars

Scars make up some of the softest patches on your skin. 

White and new like a new born. 

There unique to each other, unique to you. 

Your own snowflakes drifting over your skin.

Some lift like gentle hills.

Hues of soft pink and purple, inviting others.

These lines, like graceful dancers mark your skin tracing these permanent trails all over your body. 

There signs of your strength, patches of your courage.

Scars mark you. 

Painful lines that cris and cross over every patch of skin.

They dig into you and leave holes and clefs, voids of flesh that will never go back. 

Your skin so broken, so torn, ravaged beyond repere. 

These marks, these violet slashes remind you of your weakness, your worthlessness, of your self hate. 

The blade that left them, love them or hate them they are there. They will ALWAYS be there. Each one can cry out to you, begging you, reminding you of how it felt. Others don't understand, such thought terrifies them... So they run, they run from it, they run from you. But you are not alone in these thoughts, in these comforts, with these scars. 

The blade was your friend. It caressed your skin, touching you and releasing the pain.

Soft blood would flow, would move so gently over your skin. 

Welcome fingers loving you, as know one would, or could.

The pain, the blade, the blood. They took away the pain and anguish that hollowed you insides. 

You bleed your tears, this is your comfort, how could that be wrong? 

In the wake they left these scars, these scars to love, these scars to hate. 

Your in this room, you could be free from any level of pain. To enter so wounded, to leave to light, but wounded in a different way.

Such conflict would rage in the head and heart. Each time, 'Im okay, this is okay', 'I'm not okay, this is not okay'. 

The battle always lost, the blade the only victor, anything to comfort your heart. 

Even if it was only for a moment, just a short moment, freedom. Anything was worth it. 

But what if these scars, each so full of shame, I love you, I hate you, I hate myself. But you 'scars', I except you. You remind me of what I have lost, to further remind me of what I gain. Scars, you are every battle I have ever fort, and you are every battle I have ever completed. 

But I can never fully convince myself that the blade was always wrong. It's my friend and my enemy.