Choose a scar upon my skin, marking, dent or jagged color,
i will inform you of when i got it.
whether it was following a trend, a cause of weather, a cause of myself,
they paint a picture of myself.
some pictures are of happy days,
accidently grazing a window,
slicing a finger on a Blizzard machine.
some are burns from misuse or anger.
some are hidden, never to be seen,
disguesed from the world because of the pain they represent.
some are plain as sunshine in summer, but unseen:
no one cares enough to get close enough to look.
scars, do you see how you've effected my life?
purposeful or not, you became a defective part of my being,
which i care about and i disregard.
although eyes search and discover and study,
do they understand?
i dont think anyone ever will, considering i do not know
myself;
they are so prevalent,
i feel
if you trapped me
in an all white room
with all white padding
hugging myself in a vice grip
i would still
somehow discover
how to scar myself,
willingly or unwillingly.
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