I have been told that to be loved,

I must be:

Clean.

Unscarred.

Perfect.

I hear these words inside my head.

I hear these words from people who look

And only see my imperfections,

The things that make me different from their idea of beauty.

The things that they say are unlovable.

These are the people who I used to know.

 

I used to be afraid of those words.

I tried so hard to be

Clean.

Unscarred.

Perfect.

Following the words that I heard people say,

‘do this,’ or ‘don’t do that’,

Even though following that guidance

Always left me feeling so much worse.

Spiraling on the inside, I found myself

With scars on my wrists

And making mistakes that I never would have

If I had followed what my heart said.

 

Finally, a friend made me hear,

These scars are from my battles.

They add to your beauty,

They don’t always mean you are

Unclean.

Scarred.

Imperfect.

You can make mistakes.

Because these scars, these hurts,

These are what make you strong.

These are what make you who you are.

 

And though that was hard to hear,

I quickly learned to love

The parts of me that were

Unclean.

Scarred.

Imperfect.

I became proud of my strength,

The power behind the pain I’d pushed through.

Now I am stronger for it.

A beacon of light for others I meet.

Because now I can tell others with scars

That those are from the battles

That they have won.