I told him...
"Pretty girls don't have scars,"
And I cried.
With a finger under my chin,
He made me look into his eyes.
He told me that's what makes me beautiful
And kissed every tear
And every scar.
I wish I could believe him
But years of self-hate has broken me.
Will I ever see the truth is his words?
Or have I become too addicted to these scars.