Dear stranger who judges me,
Why should you be able to read my story just by looking at me?
I am who I want to be
I can become someone else
I have become one else.
That scar that you see is from when I was a different me
You see,
I am not who you decide you want me to be.
These scars tell stories:
On my knee from the time I wiped out on the playground
I have been wiped out.
My personality is now blurred
By who you think I am
And who you want me to be.
These scars tell stories:
Imprinted in my palm from a dog bite
You take a bite out of me when you look at me like that
And assume where I got my scars.
You think you know my stories
But they are my stories to tell
Mine and mine alone.
These scars tell stories:
Maybe there are untold stories,
Ones that no one has heard.
Maybe there are scars on my wrists
Maybe there aren't
So which will it be?
Silly me,
You knew the answer to that the second you looked at me.
I am a book with scratches, folds and marks
But I was not written just so you could scan me
I was not written just so you could bleed me out
I have bled,
That's what created these scars.
These physical marks on my body that will stay with me forever
I will not stay with me forever.
My personality will continuously change
Constantly improving, flipping and rearranging.
Who I am and who I want to be
Is not defined by the way you see me.
My scars show a past me that I am not allowed to forget
But each one makes me who I am now
And will make me who I am in the future.
I choose to be
Not who you judge me as,
Not who you see when you look at my cover.
I choose to be
Who you see when you turn the pages of my story
And really analyze
Each stanza
Each word and line
Each bend on the corner
Each pencil marking written in
Each typo and grammar mistake
Has made my story the way it is.
You cannot change my story by reading it,
Don't try.
Because my scars stay the same,
But I never will.
Sincerely,
Ever-changing me