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there's a scar on my lower back. six years later, and i still don't know where it came from.
if scars were beautiful, then i would be an artwork. i would be the praised murals, of new york city, skyscrapers, and painted oils my scars — they're hidden in places no one would think to look.
maybe there aren't as many as there used to be. but i can still feel then clinging to my skin like dirt. only, scars don't wash off so easily.
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