Scars

When your pale orbs scan my phiz,

My dry eyes suffer a cry.

My scarlet cheeks with blotches upon,

Is what I know

Your stare occupies.

When you utter those words,

"They must hurt!"

You need to know,

It's your chant that cripples

My heart and will and soul.

You think they dust my pretty face,

And that I should cry so.

Just keep your hell of a theory

With you.

Because I let in only what I want to.

It's not a scar

That scatters me.

It's not a spot

That smears me.

It's not a patch

That pollutes me.

It's not a wound

That worsens me.

It's not a mark

That messes me.

It's not a blemish

That besmirches me.

No matter how it looks like,

Just know it's all a piece of me.