Proof

Dear scars,

It’s been years, but

I can still trace your perfect rows.

The raised skin

comforts me-

Is that wrong?

There used to be lines

up and down my body.

They were tattoos, and

I called myself the artist.

Except now,

you are all that remains.

I’m not proud of what I did but

I’m proud of how I survived.

You are the only evidence I have left

and now I’m losing you