Scars
I'm concious of the staring, of the looking, of the glaring.
I see you wondering 'what are those?'
With confusion in your eyes
The white puckered lines that protrude my olive skin.
What are they?
They're the product of pain, of hurt, of love.
The maybe solution of life's problems.
The decision that created me as an outcast, an attention-seeker, an emo, a cutter.
An image that gives a reputation for me, but is not me.
An image that portrays a thousand words.
Selfish, attention, hurt, hard, suffering.
The scars show weakness, but they say 'Stay Strong'
Paris8543, vrouw, 26 jaar
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