Some days I cover my arms shamefully with

itchy sweaters and flannel shirts

Because I can’t stand the thought of being seen

their stares pierce far into my soul

and I feel tears sting my eyes like pools of crimson memories

I remember the first day I felt beautiful

even with my self-inflicted imperfections

I rolled up my sleeves scared and shy

like a child on the first day of kindergarten

hoping the world wouldn't look down on me

for mistakes I can’t remove with an eraser

These scars cover my arms like the jagged lines

of a blood red sharpie like the ones

my teachers used to write my failures

I remember the day I pulled the sleeves of my jacket up

to wash my hands when a woman walked through

like the queen of England

more superior than the sad reflection

of a broken girl standing in front of her

“You’re disgusting” like she knew the stories

lacing the outside of my body

Can you believe I told that bitch sorry?

like it was my fault she couldn't stand me for something

I will never forgive myself for

I’m not sorry anymore

Most days I look down at myself in the shower

and I cry enough tears to drown my fears for the night

Some nights I make tiny invisible cuts

on the inner corners of my wrists

when I can’t sleep and feel like screaming

No one will ever notice

I hope

I find peace in the strength forced into my heart

by the razors I used to slice open cuts

on the wrists of the arms that hold the pen

that bleeds ink from the dark pit of my soul

These scars are not mistakes

they are beautiful

I am beautiful