Scars that cover my flesh bring sadness to those who lay eyes on their beauty. Why? I do not know, for they are a symbol of strength and survival. They cover my thighs, and rest on my arms for they are self inflicted. They are a cry for another way to live, a question of my life, and a darkness I'll never forget. They aren't sad, ugly, nor anything to that degree. They are my medals of pride, my jewelry to show, and my story to tell. They aren't bad, they are simply, me.
YOU ARE READING
Broken Poetry
PoetryJust a bunch of my writings, usually dark but there are a few bright ones hidden in there somewhere... I hope you enjoy!
