Scars

Beneath the surface, etched in skin, Lie stories carved by where we’ve been. Each line, each mark, a silent scream, A memory’s shadow, a fractured dream. A jagged path, a tender ache, Reminders of what couldn’t break. In silver streaks or darkened hues, The scars we bear are living truths. Some born of battles, others of love, Some from below, and some above. They whisper loss, they murmur gain, Each scar a balance: joy and pain. Yet do not pity, do not despair, For scars mean life, and life’s unfair. They show we’ve fought, they prove we’ve healed, And through the hurt, our strength’s revealed. So wear them proud, like armor worn, Through every storm, through every thorn. For though they mark us, they also define— A testament: you’re yours, still mine.