I refuse to really be, the girl that laid in the hospital bed,
She was so helpless.
She was so lonely.
She was praying not to die at seventeen,
She was so brave.
Because the hospital beds were home back then
And the cuts and scars became part of me,
and though they are all just little secrets now
I know that girl made me.
I am brave, I am strong, I am open.
Death had me in its grasp,
and somehow God pried its fingers open.
I battle the memories each day
One day the scars will heal
One day it will be easier.
One day I'll make that girl proud.