i hate my scars.
they are not lovely,
they are not bravery.
they dictate my life.
they tell me what i can wear,
where to go
who i can trust,
who i can love...
the metallic bars stretching across my thigh are like those of a prison.
they lock me into this life of secrecy,
they are not tragically beautiful
they are a physical sign of my weakness.
they are a red flag.
they are towering monsters with jagged teeth and slender, pale limbs
chasing away those who get too close.
my scars are a tattoo of my pain.
do not romanticize my scars.
they are not romantic.
they are rusted chains linked to 20 pound weights attached to my ankles...
they are the death of innocence.