When men looked at me
all they saw was
something shiny and new
that had to be conquered
but when they looked close
I was faded and torn
filled with scars and bruises
not a smooth surface
but a bumpy road
someone that they thought
had to be fixed
and taken care of
until he came along
running his hands
over every scar and bruise
not stopping
no matter how hard I flinched
looking at me
not as someone that had to be fixed
but admiring
the rough road I had survived
they weren't flaws to him
not at all
but a map
showing me landmarks
leading to the beautiful destination
I hadn't even realized I had become
