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.