Scars

Dear stranger who judges me,

Why should you be able to read my story just by looking at me?

I am who I want to be

I can become someone else

I have become one else.

That scar that you see is from when I was a different me

You see,

I am not who you decide you want me to be.

These scars tell stories:

On my knee from the time I wiped out on the playground

I have been wiped out.

My personality is now blurred

By who you think I am

And who you want me to be.

These scars tell stories:

Imprinted in my palm from a dog bite

You take a bite out of me when you look at me like that

And assume where I got my scars.

You think you know my stories

But they are my stories to tell

Mine and mine alone.

These scars tell stories:

Maybe there are untold stories,

Ones that no one has heard.

Maybe there are scars on my wrists

Maybe there aren't

So which will it be?

Silly me,

You knew the answer to that the second you looked at me.

I am a book with scratches, folds and marks

But I was not written just so you could scan me

I was not written just so you could bleed me out

I have bled,

That's what created these scars.

These physical marks on my body that will stay with me forever

I will not stay with me forever.

My personality will continuously change

Constantly improving, flipping and rearranging.

Who I am and who I want to be

Is not defined by the way you see me.

My scars show a past me that I am not allowed to forget

But each one makes me who I am now

And will make me who I am in the future.

I choose to be

Not who you judge me as,

Not who you see when you look at my cover.

I choose to be

Who you see when you turn the pages of my story

And really analyze

Each stanza

Each word and line

Each bend on the corner

Each pencil marking written in

Each typo and grammar mistake

Has made my story the way it is.

You cannot change my story by reading it,

Don't try.

Because my scars stay the same,

But I never will.

Sincerely,

Ever-changing me