My Scars


My dad always told me I was beautiful,

But inside I never thought the words were useful.

I would never truly believe what he would say,

But I would carry on with life anyway.


They shine on my skin like a brand new dime,

More and more appear, as we go through time.

Even though sometimes I’m forgetful,

It’s my scars that make me beautiful.


There have been nights I wanted it to end,

Stop breathing, so my heart can mend.

I know I can control my actions,

But sometimes my feelings deserve reactions.


They each represent a different memory,

On their own, they are my enemy.

One from a time, one from a place,

Each time I relive them on my face.


People cringe when they look,

I just keep smiling like it wasn’t my happiness they just took.

Even though my words might not be musical,

I know it’s my scars that make me beautiful.

Guide that inspired this poem: 


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