Categories Emotions, Lifestyle, Meditation

These scars that I proudly carry
across my body, mind, heart, and soul
are my scars.
The scars are me;
they are who I am;
and I am not ashamed of them.
They are a vivid reminder of
how life has treated me
and tried to break me;
but I overcame.

The scars that have seared me
in the course of life
are a testament,
a constant display, that
in spite of the darkness
along the way;
despite tripping and falling
now and then,
I emerged victorious.

The scars are a tattoo of triumph,
meaning that though I grieved,
the wounds are closed;
I conquered the pain,
I learned my lesson;
I grew stronger in the process,
and majestically moved forward.

The scars are evidence that
no tribulations could hold me hostage;
they couldn’t make me live in fear.
I am exhilarated because,
regardless of my scars,
I haven’t and won’t give up.

I can’t make the scars disappear, I know,
but I can change the way I view them.
I see my scars as healed wounds,
a sign of strength and not pain.
They are history carved into my
body, mind, heart, and soul;
which I own, and wear with pride.

I am an epic introvert, who quickly becomes an open book when I pen what’s in my significantly fertile mind; fertile as a result of bombardment by realities that are continuously captured by my inquisitive eyes, ears which are constantly rubbing the ground, through constant reading, and through dreaming too.

Writing provides an opportunity to ‘say’ what my unapologetic quiet mouth will not say; which not only soothes me, but also bequeaths to me a relief, a release, and a hope that the written words will change the world, even if only one person at a time.

And so should you seek, that’s where to find me; deeply tucked inside the blankets of reading, seeing, listening, dreaming, and then writing.

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