Scars

The scar below my left knee, the one I smacked on the bedpost the night he told me it was over, crying in sheer pain. I dont know whats worse, the scars he left me with or the leaving itself. The calloused raised scar on my right index finger, the one I scraped along a piece of glass and then hid from my mother like the shame I have hidden my whole life. These scars are those that make me. Proof that I’m neither invincible nor shatterproof. Proof that I bleed from the inside out for pain I didn't ask for. The scratches that burned into scars on my right shin from tripping over my own two feet and then laughing, having to repeat over and over how clumsy I am. The scars that I will have for a lifetime that rot within me and fester over, spreading inside my body like some disease. The scars people have left me with, to clean and nurture because no one else will. There’s only me left to take care of these parts of myself, the scars no one no longer wants to touch. I collect scars like prized possessions, rubbing my fingers over them as I reflect on which ones hurt the most. Physical scars cover my body but the ones inside me haunt me the most, like ghosts I can't escape from. The scars are permanent, visible indications that I have had a life long lived. I have scraped and clawed my way into being comfortable in the scar covered shell that I am in. All of the memories of a life well lived. The scar on my belly button from letting my cousin pierce it with a dull needle, laughing together about pain we demanded to feel and let go. Scars can show up like battle wounds, I flaunt some of them with pride, knowing I made it through the thick of it all. I made it through the worst of the worst and I have all of the scars to prove it. I collect scars like memories, holding them tight to my chest as if letting them go would be letting go a part of me. We are all just a collection of scars some more painful than others, some not being about pain at all. Some scars are given to show that we can set ourselves free from the cages we put ourselves in, reminders that in the end, scars are a beautiful collection of memories that we have collected and refused to let go. -M.D.L