These Beautiful Scars Of Mine

These beautiful scars of mine.

So harsh and angry on my skin. Whether it's a cut on my knee or a scrape on my chin. They are unpleasant for sure, but they tell a story. My story. Every single one is unique like a written language only I can understand. 

Some scars are not visible to the eye. Those never fully heal. They linger. Waiting to be picked, plucked, and pulled like a scab to bleed once more. 

Others are small and barely show, but the ones I made myself are on exhibit. For reasons unknown to others, I was a canvas for a blade. As I played games of tic-tac-toe upon my arms and thighs I met someone. 

He too had scars, but with a healing kiss upon my temple and the promise to have and to hold we would eventually call each other soulmates.

My daughter arrived as perfect as can be. With eyes as blue as the heavens above from where she came. Cheeks as soft as the pillow on which she dreams at night. A smile so pure and innocent and a soul free from harm. 

She gave me the waves of the ocean and the stripes of a tiger around my waist. I am not afraid to show them as they come from a place of love. I wear them with pride like medals. 

These beautiful scars of mine.