I told him...

"Pretty girls don't have scars,"

And I cried.

With a finger under my chin,

He made me look into his eyes.

He told me that's what makes me beautiful

And kissed every tear

And every scar.

I wish I could believe him

But years of self-hate has broken me.

Will I ever see the truth is his words?

Or have I become too addicted to these scars.